


Random Writing Tidbits

by FirebirdsDaughter



Category: Kamen Rider Build, Kamen Rider Zi-O, Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger, 快盗戦隊ルパンレンジャー VS 警察戦隊パトレンジャー | Kaitou Sentai Lupinranger VS Keisatsu Sentai Patoranger, 騎士竜戦隊リュウソウジャー | Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention of Death, One Shot Collection, Past Child Abuse, Some may not be canon compliant, headcanons, mention of death of a child, well teen/young adult but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 36,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirebirdsDaughter/pseuds/FirebirdsDaughter
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles, and head canons that may or may not be canon compliant.Originally posted on Tumblr.





	1. LuPat: Keiichiro and Kairi

“Detective!” Kairi’s voice surprised him by cracking, turning into a desperate howl that echoed through the room, cutting through the silence of a lull in the battle as the Pordermen scrambled to regroup. The word tore from him again. “Detective!”

If he screamed loud enough, long enough, maybe PatrenIchigou would live.

He blasted quickly through the remaining Pordermen—none of them mattered anymore, nothing did—rushing to the fallen cop’s side, rolling him over and cradling him in his arms. The detective’s pulse was faint and erratic, skipping beats, and his whole body shuddered every time he tried to take a breath, which were all shallow and pained; it seemed to Kairi like he could feel the life leaving him with each shaky exhale.

“You…” His previous screaming had left his voice raw and weak, barely a whisper. “… You’re dying.”

The detective tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like choking. “You don’t… Say…?” He rasped, quickly taking two more heaving breaths, trying to conserve oxygen.

The faint, dismissive tone sent needles of irritation through Kairi’s chest. “What… What are you talking about?” He snarled, shaking the cop once. “Why… Why did you…?” He couldn’t finish. His stomach had flipped and his eyes were stinging; it felt…

It felt like it had the day he’d lost his brother.

The detective’s head moved, nodding faintly toward the large electric panel he had just bare-handedly repaired, the electrical burns grotesque evidence on his palms from where the energy had shot through him when he touched the cables to reset them. “Jim…” He struggled to speak for a moment when his heartbeat waned again. “… Jim said that restoring the power here… Should… Allow access to the lower levels of the base… He thinks… The hostages might… Be down there…”

Kairi stared down at the cop in his arms in shock. “But… Your orders were to…” Realisation hit him like a sucker punch. “You… Did this… For **us**?”

“It’s… The duty of GSPO… To protect and assist… Civilians…” Despite fading and blurring, his words were earnest; but then his heart skipped again, hardly beating anymore, and his breath became even weaker and harsher, his eyes going unfocused and drifting closed.

The tears spilled over. For the first time in a year, Kairi found himself crying.

“No…!” His hands clenched, clutching even tighter to the detective’s jacket, shaking him again. “No! Keiichiro!”

A bubble of breath, perhaps meant to be a laugh, burst from the detective. “That’s… The first time… You’ve ever used my name…” A small, tired smile flickered across his face, and a cold, damaged hand floated up to lay over Kairi’s as he met the thief’s eyes. “… Thanks for that.”

The hand slid to the ground and lay still.

PatrenIchigou’s heart stopped again—and didn’t restart.


	2. LuPat: Keiichiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to physical child abuse.

He wears two sets of long sleeves because it’s the uniform.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves because it gets cold in the trailer at night and he always tucks all the extra blankets around his mother the moment she falls asleep.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves as much as possible at work because once in the academy, Tsukasa put her hand on his arm to stop him from doing something stupid, and the way it suddenly tightened on his forearm and the look she’d given him told him that she’d felt the bumps and roughness of the scars he’d been told would probably never fade completely.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves around her religiously now because he’s still afraid she’ll ask, and he can’t answer. Not yet. Maybe one day, but not yet.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves at home, too, because whenever his mother sees or feels his old injuries, she shuts herself behind one of two sliding doors in their trailer and cries for hours as soon as she thinks he’s not looking.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves because he wants to set an example, because it took a month to get Sakuya to even zip up his jacket most of the way.  
He wears two sets of longs sleeves because he’s a compulsive professional in his own way, because sometimes they dread that one misstep could land both him and his mother back where they started creeps back up his spine like an icy shiver and he can’t bear to let her down like that.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves because he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s hiding underneath them, because he doesn’t want people to stare at the lasting damage his father did with cigarettes, blades, and nails.  
He wears long sleeves in general because his father never once wore long sleeves, that he can remember, because it’s yet another way he can stave off the resemblance.  
He wears two sets of long sleeves because it’s his armour.


	3. LuPat: Keiichiro and Kairi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This occurs immediately after Keiichiro finding out that Kairi is LupinRed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring some Zamigo.

“Look out!” Keiichiro grabbed a handful of his jacket, shoving him down, shouldering in front of him in the same movement.

What happened next was both too fast and too slow all at the same time.

The shot hit the detective in the side, ice forming, freezing, down his leg, destabilising him sharply, sending him careening over the edge of the roof. With reflexes Kairi hadn’t known he had, he dove forward and managed to catch Keiichiro by the wrist at the last moment, grabbing onto the edge of the rooftop when the weight nearly dragged him down, too.

“It’s okay!” He sputtered, frantically trying to strengthen his hold on the detective’s arm. “It’s okay, I got you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zamigo moving. “Stay away from us!” He snarled. The Gangler laughed, but held up his hands and backed away—though Kairi knew better than to attribute it to compassion, especially when the monster continued to watch them.

“Kairi.” Keiichiro’s voice was strained, abnormally quiet. “Kairi!” Kairi looked back down at him.

“Kairi,” Keiichiro gasped, then stopped to wince in pain as the ice crawled up his body. Kairi could feel the weight pulling his arm growing as it reached the detective’s torso. “Kairi,” Keiichiro growled again through his teeth, “You need to let me go.”

Kairi’s eyes bulged from his head. “What? No! No no no no no-”

“It’s the only way! If this stuff reaches you-”

“I can’t lose you, too!” His voice cracked from far more than exertion.

Keiichiro closed his eyes for a moment, then grimaced as the ice continued to spread, past his elbow, inching upwards. “Look at me.” He ordered, voice breathless but conspicuously calm, cutting through the roaring panic mounting in Kairi’s ears. “Kairi, look at me.” At last, Kairi obeyed.

Keiichiro’s expression was fierce and determined—but deep in his eyes, Kairi could see utter terror.

“You’re right,” the detective grunted, forcing words out as quickly as he could as the ice began to halo around his head, swallowing his shoulders. “You’re right, I don’t understand. Now there’s no time. But… You’re not just LupinRed. You’re… You’re Kairi. You’re my friend. I… I trust you.” The ice slithered up in coils around his throat, frost creeping up his jaw, spikes reaching for Kairi, close enough he could feel the cold. The detective’s voice became reedier, as his breathing was constricted, his expression becoming downright tender. “And, Kairi… This is **not** your fault.”

Kairi shook his head frantically, repeating a rapid fire of breathless ‘no’s, trying to deny that the weight of the ice made it feel like his shoulders were splitting. The fabric of his glove was ripping, stone scraping his palm, but he only clutched tighter to both his anchor and his friend. He was sure that if it hadn’t been for the gloves, his nails would be leaving marks in Keiichiro’s arm.

Keiichiro took a deep breath, forcing his freezing face to let him speak once more—and for the first time, his voice cracked. “Tell my mother I’m sorry.”

Grabbing Kairi’s wrist tighter, he twisted it sharply, forcing the thief’s fingers to slip, then letting go himself just in time for the ice to envelope his head and arm, just missing Kairi’s fingertips.

“ **KEI-CHAN**!!!”

Kairi’s agonised scream came in unison with the shattering of ice on the ground below.

And all that was left was a VS Changer and Vehicle.


	4. LuPat: Tsukasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officially non canon compliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depiction/references to psychological child abuse.

When she was five, her mother snatched a plushie from her hands in a store and scolded her harshly for being an embarrassment to the family name.

She didn’t cry.

She’d been carefully trained not to, taught for years to be seen not heard—sometimes not even seen—to not complain, show weakness, or disobey. Reputation and professionalism were paramount to one of the country’s oldest cop families. Instead, she merely folded her hands and looked at her shoes through her lashes, meekly nodding her head meekly when her mother asked her severely if she understood.

Later that night, her paternal aunt snuck the very same stuffed animal into the main house in her purse, slipping it to her when she came to tell her goodnight, adding it to the small collection they’d begun hiding under her bed during the day, a habit they kept up for years until her grandmother banned the aunt from the house for being a reminder of her father; after all, it was no secret that her parents had only been allowed to marry because her father’s family was socially respectable rather than approval of the man himself.

Her vague memories of her father were of a splash of light and laughter in a serious and dour household, much to her grandmother’s disdain; her clearest recollection was the stuffed cat he gave her for her third birthday, the plush that kickstarted her love for them. After his death, her grandmother had tried to have it thrown out, but she had hidden it under her bed and lied that she had gotten rid of it herself—the first and only time she told a falsehood to anyone. From then on, it was only the occasional visits from his sister that allowed her to be a child—as the aunt kept coming by, even after her mother took her back to the family home and abandoned her father’s name—until she was finally barred from the house for such behaviour.

Years later, as an adult, she would come to understand her mother’s strict behaviour—that the woman was a product of their family history as well, conditioned far longer to be the ideal of a perfect, proper officer. Eventually, she would be able to reconcile the fact that her mother **had** loved her, but had been unable to express it in any other way—that she was merely parenting the way she had been raised because she knew no other way, believed that it was right.

But on that day, she just resented.

Eighteen years later, three after her aunt was forbidden to visit, she left for the Police Academy, taking her stuffed animals with her—and never looked back.


	5. LuPat: Keiichiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depiction of physical child abuse.

When he was fifteen, his father got his hands around his throat, pinned him against the side of the trailer, and tried to strangle him.

That was the one time he genuinely believed he was going to die, in all the times his father had nearly killed him.

His father wasn’t always violent—sometimes just angry and argumentative from too much drink—but it happened enough. When he’d been little, all he could do was curl up and hide, or watch as his mother would throw herself between him and danger, landing herself in the emergency room, claiming she’d fallen, more often than they could afford. As he got older, however, he decided that enough was enough—and when his father started swinging, he’d swing back; and soon, it was him in the emergency room.

When people asked questions, his mother would pull him close to her side and make something up—she expressly forbid him to take part in the deceptions, always managing to twist her words so that she didn’t quite lie. He knew why she did it—she was scared. Scared they would take him away from her if they knew, scared they would fall through the cracks of the system as she had as a little girl, scared they’d be left on the streets with nothing. So when they were in the emergency room, he stayed quiet, nursing his injuries, which were usually numerous—his father fought dirty; he always lost.

That night, his father smelled of alcohol, sweat, and blood, his lip bleeding from where his son had gotten in a lucky punch; the hands were heavy around his neck, and the metal side of the trailer cold against his back. His breath was then returned to him quite suddenly, the pressure on his throat disappearing so fast the air surging back into his lungs felt like a punch itself. He was still delirious and dizzy, and wouldn’t know until later that the rescue had come from his mother throwing her full weight into tackling his father sideways, wrenching his hands off their son’s neck. Having knocked him away, she successfully got in between them and shielded her child until his father gave up and stormed off, growling darkly that he wouldn’t go so easy next time.

That moment would haunt him for the rest of his life. A decade later, when a disorderly drunk would get a lucky jump on him, wrapping their shaking, familiar-smelling hands around his neck in a vain attempt to fight the cops off, his vision would blur, and for a moment, he would be back there; trapped against the cold metal of the mobile home by a larger, stronger opponent with a far more effective grip on his throat, and… His own face.

He couldn’t remember the exact first time he looked in a mirror and saw his father glaring back at him, but he’d immediately wound up and punched the glass hard, cracking it permanently. His mother had had to sit up for hours pulling pieces out of his hand with tweezers. After that, he’d done his best to stay away from reflective surfaces, and took pains to create as many differences between his and his father’s appearances as he could.

Tsukasa would have to drag him bodily away before he could beat the offending drunk to a pulp as a proxy.


	6. KR Build: Souichi

Once, during training for the Mars mission, while they were sealed inside one of the replica pods, there had been a malfunction with the ventilation system. Rather than filtering the air and pumping it back into the enclosed space, it sprang a leak, and started just sucking it out at an alarming rate.

For an unforgettably horrible two and a half minutes while the techs on the outside scrambled to get the sealed door open, the whole crew was trapped in a cramped, dark space with no oxygen.

He’d felt like his lungs were shrivelling, like some giant monster was squeezing his throat closed. He nearly lost consciousness—beside him, the pilot, Junichi, did. When the door had burst open and air rushed back in, it felt like a punch. It was agony. But they were alive. He’d never told Miku, would never have even considered telling Misora; but from time to time, even long after they’d fixed the problem, he’d dream about being in that pod, the clock ticking down… Only the door would never open, and he’d wake up, choking, clawing at his throat.

For the past ten years, every moment had been like that.

He was trapped darkness, a mere spectator in his own mind, completely powerless. He couldn’t close his eyes, or even look away. Every time he tried to reach out, to pull free, the darkness swallowed him, dragged him down and continued to suffocate him once more.

Sometimes, glimmers of the world outside would pierce through the shadows of his prison, pulling him just a little closer to clarity, each time—though it was always inevitably snatched away again.

Misora, half his life, half the world, one of the two suns in his sky, shone with the light of a million of the brightest stars, blazing so brilliantly that his awareness immediately zeroed in on her whenever she was present. But even though her face was the closest thing to comfort there was, more than anything, he wanted her far away from him, from it. He wanted her to have nothing to do with any of it, wanted to not know where she was, like her mother.

Sometimes he started to wonder where the other half, his wife, was, but always stopped as quickly as he could. That Miku’s disappearance was a mystery even to him was surprisingly a comfort. His mind wasn’t his own anymore—it had access to every single thought, every single memory, even if it couldn’t always make the connections. If he spent too much time thinking about what might have become of Miku, he ran the risk of realising something that would lead it right to her. His failure to resist the possession had already had enormously catastrophic consequences; even if it was in a tiny, personal way, it was his responsibility to keep fighting.

Continued resistance, however, was getting more and more difficult. Every time he tried to pull away, pull toward the lights that seeped in through metaphorical cracks, it felt like he was always dragged back down just that much deeper. The drowning persisted, and it became harder to think. He continued to teeter on the edge of nothingness like that day in the pod—but this time, he did it alone, with no promise of release.

For the past ten years, every moment had broken him just a little bit more.


	7. LuPat: Sakuya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depiction/mention of verbal abuse and child neglect.

_Don’t think_.

His father had told him that once, sitting proudly in his mahogany and leather throne behind his polished desk, gazing pointedly out the window rather than at his younger son.

 _Don’t think, don’t dream. You’ll never be able to achieve anything, so it’s not worth the effort_.

It might have been hurt more if it hadn’t been the most his father had said to him in all eight years of his life—or would ever say to him again.

The rest of his family hadn’t exactly been sympathetic, either. As his aunt had condescendingly told him at the dinner table just a few months later;

_Just do whatever you want, like always. Someone like you doesn’t have the capacity for complex stuff, so why exhaust yourself?_

The comment had been tagged on to the end of a family-wide conversation about how he was too much like his mother, who the who Hikawa Group described as having been a ‘brainless ditz’ who had been pushed out when Sakuya was five and his brother seven because she wasn’t ‘sensible’ or ‘respectable’ enough to be a businessman’s wife. The final word had been a lament by his uncle.

_Why should have gotten him away from her sooner, like we did his brother. Then maybe he wouldn’t be so useless._

Though that, at least, had been better than the first and last thing his grandfather had said to him, on his tenth birthday, after yet another renowned professor had declared him to be ‘slower’ than his brother.

 _You will_ always _be a disappointment_.

Admittedly, the bitter old man had died three days later, but Sakuya didn’t think he could really take credit for that.

It didn’t help either. Before he reached eleven, his father had stopped hiring tutors for him, guests were told to ignore him, and household staff instructed to only speak to him if absolutely necessary. As far as the majority of the Hikawa family, their construction empire, and associates were concerned, the President’s younger son simply did not exist.

The only reason he could never quite give up entirely was his brother.

It wasn’t that Touya was telling him he **could** do things, or even being particularly nice to him—at least, not compared to the interactions he saw between other friends during the few times he had the chance. No, Touya wasn’t exactly nice, and he was usually more irritated by Sakuya’s antics than anything else.

But he didn’t ignore him. And he never called him a disappointment. An embarrassment, maybe—but never a disappointment.

In the end, it was also Touya who inspired him to leave.

_Why do you keep trying to copy me?_

The question had started as annoyed, but as he watched his now-seventeen-year-old younger brother flounder for an answer, Touya’s expression had changed into something Sakuya hadn’t been able to identify. But what his brother said next had stayed with him ever since.

_… You should have gone with Okaa-san._

It was the first time his brother had ever implied he wanted him gone. For a while after, Sakuya had been angry, but later, he began to wonder if Touya hadn’t meant it another way.

Hadn’t meant that he thought Sakuya might have been happier with her, than in a giant, beautiful house where no one wanted him.

So he went to look for her. He never found her, but about a year later, he did find himself—at least, a little bit.

He doubts Keiichiro and Tsukasa-senpai remember their very first meeting at all, having had other things—namely an aggressive purse-snatcher—to deal with at the time. He hadn’t been thinking much at the time either—just acted on some unexpected instinct when he saw the thief running his way, tried to tackle him, but only succeeded in tripping him a little and banging his own head. Still, it had bought enough time for the two nearby GSPO cadets to step in and control the situation; soon Tsukasa-senpai had had the criminal in handcuffs while Keiichiro was checking on the victim, then coming over and offering Sakuya a hand up. He remembered apologising for causing trouble, but his future teammate had waved it off.

 _You tried. That’s more than anyone else here did. And because you tried we were able to catch him. That’s not trouble._ _That’s initiative._

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he got an almost-smile—the closest he would ever see Keiichiro come for a long time.

_… You ever thought about joining GSPO?_

Then the police had arrived, and he’d lost them in the confusion.

But just a few months later, he’d taken up on that suggestion. A few years after that, when they encouraged him on the training field, it was some of the greatest inspiration he’d ever received, however little it had meant to them.

When he’d been offered a position on the same team as them, he couldn’t agree fast enough.

Sometimes, he thinks about asking Jim to check facial recognition from an old picture of his mother, just to see if she’s still in the city, but decides against it because it’d be an abuse of resources.

Sometimes, he calls his brother’s cellphone and leaves a message, even though Touya never picks up or calls him back.

Sometimes, he considers telling the others that yes, he really **is** related to **that** Hikawa family, because they haven’t had time to make the connections, but then doesn’t because he’s scared he’ll be a disappointment again.

Sometimes he wonders if he ever stopped being one.

But then there’s a Gangler alert, and, at least for a little while, he gets to be needed by someone. He gets to be part of something.

He gets to exist.


	8. Zi-O: Geiz and Sougo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sougo has only a minor part, but it's about their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been two episodes and I'm at it already.

_Why are you protecting Ouma Zi-O?_

A good question, really.

To be completely honest, he’s not at all sure what he’s doing.

His body is moving before his mind, his logic, even has a chance to catch up. He can’t seem to budge from his new position, standing between their opponent and where Ouma Zi-O fell, his posture undeniably protective.

He wonders if this is how Tsukuyomi felt the first time she stopped him from killing Ouma Zi-O himself, but quickly dismisses the idea.

Tsukuyomi had solved the mystery for herself; she’d wanted to spare a friend the crime of killing someone still technically innocent.

Right now, he doesn’t have that excuse, does he? Can they still call Ouma Zi-O innocent, after all the powers he’s stolen? Stolen… To stop the kaijin. To help others. To protect.

Stolen… Unintentionally. And tried to give back.

**Geiz…**

He’s struggling to rise from another hard strike when he hears his name and looks over his shoulder. It seems Ouma Zi-O is still just barely conscious, injured, weak, and bloodied, but struggling to move, one arm reaching out to feebly wave him away.

**Geiz… Stop…**

He’s surprised enough that he almost fails to block the next incoming attack, only barely getting his weapon up in time, grunting in pain as the force of the hit sends reverberations right to his bones. The swings seem to be becoming stronger, but he’s well aware that’s impossible.

He’s just reaching his limit.

Behind him, Ouma Zi-O screams his name again, begging him to run. And then it clicks in his head.

Tsukuyomi is right. This is not Ouma Zi-O. Ouma Zi-O would never try to befriend his would-be assassins. Ouma Zi-O would never stoop to help those in trouble. Ouma Zi-O would never beg.

Ouma Zi-O would never tell a person shielding him to value their life over his.

And in that instant, he’s no longer conflicted, and everything is so much clearer.

_Why are you protecting Ouma Zi-O?_

A foolish question, really.

Because he’s not protecting Ouma Zi-O at all.

He’s protecting the young man lying practically unconscious on the ground behind him; who thinks more about others than he does himself, who might be a little odd, but usually has good intentions.

He’s protecting the person that boy is at this particular moment in time.

Tsukuyomi must be right—that there’s some upcoming event, some big incident, that transforms this person into the monster of Ouma Zi-O, and their best bet to do this without murder is to prevent that event from happening. And for some reason he can’t really explain anymore, he’d now much rather do it that way. He’d much rather keep that person. Before it was just hesitation, but now he actively does not want that person to die. He wants to protect him.

Protect him from the Time Jackers, from the Another Riders, from Woz if necessary, and from the darkness of his own future.

But as one last attack finally knocks him out of his transformation, and everything is blurry and a hand grabs him by the throat so hard he can’t breathe, it seems like he’s going need to leave that task to Tsukuyomi.

Before, every time they worked together, there was a nagging fear that by some accident, he’d end up dying protecting Ouma Zi-O. But now, even as everything fades to black and their opponent lords over him, he’s calm. Because the last thing he hears is that voice, screaming his name in desperation. And he knows.

He’s not protecting Ouma Zi-O.

He’s protecting Tokiwa Sougo.


	9. KR Build: Gentoku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With mentions of others

He wished he could say he was thinking of something great.

That ‘Love and Peace’ meant the greater good, hope for the whole world, the promise of reuniting Japan like his father had asked.

But he wasn’t.

When he jumped in front of the blast, he wasn’t thinking of Japan, or even the world.

He was thinking of them.

Of the two young women he’d spent days apologising to until Misora threatened to cut him if he said it again and Sawa yelled that enough was enough.

Of the two younger Riders for whom he caused so much pain, who’d accepted him as their ally—even friend—despite how so much of their suffering came from him.

Of the man who never should have given him a chance, let alone become the brother he’d never had in a few months, only to disappear as suddenly—that thought ending in a wretched lament of _it should have been me_.

But the thoughts weren’t even of penance, of trying to make for all the things he’d done. They weren’t about the world outside the Tower, or of the past. Only of the four lives around him.

All he thought of was protecting them.

Not for any heroic or noble reason, either. Only how he couldn’t let any harm come to them. Only of how important they were.

It wasn’t until he heard the voices shouting, cheering outside that more thoughts finally entered his mind. About the country, the people, the world.

And then he thought of his father, a silent regret that this was all he could do in the end. But also a small smattering of pride.

That, in the end, he finally understood. That, in the end, he wasn’t alone. That, in the end, he’d been able to find the family they’d both sought in their own way. Even if it took the world ending.

In the end, his first and last thoughts were only of them. Gratitude for their acceptance, for how much they had come to mean to him. How much he loved them.

He wished he could have spent more time with them.


	10. Zi-O: Swartz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Completely unfounded headcanon backstory after one episode.  
> Mentions of Uhr.

More than anything, Swartz hates dealing with Uhr.

Not for the expected reasons; though the young man can be obnoxious, impudent, arrogant, and impulsive, and though that is often bothersome, it is not why just looking at the boy can sometimes make his blood boil even more than Zi-O. It’s not even really Uhr’s fault, and he shouldn’t be taking it out on him as much as he does.

It’s just that sometimes, Uhr will do something particularly childish or rebellious, or laugh in a certain way, and suddenly he’s not looking at a young revolutionary with a penchant for mayhem.

Suddenly, he’s looking at his son. The child he lost what seems like so many, many long years ago.

Swartz can’t even remember what his own name was back then, before Ouma Zi-O destroyed his life—only the true names of his wife and their dead son remain burned into his memory, two lonely, ghostly whispers that are all he has left of the man he used to be:

Megumi. Kazuya.

But Megumi isn’t Megumi anymore, either. And Kazuya is gone. Just another corpse on the Overlord’s warpath.

The association doesn’t even make sense. Uhr doesn’t look anything like Kazuya, all round-cheeked and baby faced where Kazuya had inherited his father’s sharp angles. Their personalities are completely different, too—Kazuya had always been quiet and thoughtful, while Uhr is prone bragging and even the occasional tantrum. The only similarity is their age. But it seems that that’s enough.

It’s not fair to either of them. Uhr hates being seen as a child. Swartz hates to be reminded of his failure. Even more, he hates the threat of caring and losing again. So he goes out of his way to be disdainful towards the younger Time Jacker, to breed animosity between them, just in case. Yet another way to eclipse the father he once was with the monster he has to become. Keeping his interactions with the boy as condescending and dismissive as possible helps him ferret out whatever small pieces of human kindness even might be left in his heart and change them into vengeful bitterness.

Helps to keep the vow he and his wife made to each other on their child’s unmarked grave—to forget warmth and gentleness, to become nothing more than the tools of Ouma Zi-O’s destruction, as he was theirs, no matter the cost.

Because every time he sees his son in Uhr, he comes far too close to breaking that promise.

So, more than anything, Swartz hates dealing with Uhr.


	11. Zi-O: Geiz and Sougo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some more random angst. Warnings for blood, stabbing, and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this when I was really tired and grumpy from a long day at work.  
> I also posted it to here on my phone so please excuse any weird formatting. I will fix it once I’m back at my desk.

There’s blood on his hand.

It’s his own, he’s reasonably sure. Well, if the dull ache in his abdomen and the feeling of a blade edge cutting into his left palm are anything to go by. His thoughts are fuzzy, his mind desperately trying to parse together what happened. The source of the ache seems to be his abdominal area, but the feeling runs all the way through him. His vision is blotchy, and he realises—to his surprise—that he’s still standing when he wavers on his feet. It seems like his whole body is going numb aside from the dull, uncomfortable pain in his stomach, and he can distinctly feel something protruding from it, something he’s holding in his hand. There’s something in his right hand, too, he thinks, but it doesn’t hurt—unlike the other things he can still feel. His head is hanging, and there’s a metallic taste in his mouth—more blood, he’s certain.

But there’s also something he knows he’s forgetting, something important. Some reason he’s standing here, dazed and in pain. Finally, slowly, the cobwebs in his head start to clear. It’s not a some **thing** , it’s a some **one**.

… _Zi-O. Where is Zi-O?_

Dragging his eyes fully open, he heaves his head up. He’s looking into the face of a monster—a grotesque, awful thing with a demonic grin and glowing eyes—but there isn’t enough energy left him to be scared or surprised. It’s Another Rider, he thinks, maybe. It looks vaguely familiar. But he can’t seem to remember which one, and it doesn’t really feel like it matters anymore. He does notice the thing is holding the hilt of the sword, his own hand clutching the blade about halfway down, so tightly blood is oozing between his fingers from the cuts. And the point… Is somewhere inside his body, he supposes—though perhaps it’s the little pinprick of pain he can feel somewhere around the centre of his back.

He stares blankly into the monstrous visage for a moment, before remembering why he opened his eyes in the first place. With effort that takes all his focus, he releases the sword, hand dropping to his side, having lost the strength to stay up. The blade freed, the Another Rider rears back, yanking its weapon away. He feels the sword leave his body like it was the one thing holding him up—without it, he staggers, drops to one knee, blood spilling from the newly opened wound. He makes no effort to stop it; he can’t. He can barely remember he has hands.

Then there are arms, arms replacing the sword to hold him up. He vaguely feels warmth nearby, wrapping around his shoulders, and when he finally sags forward, he falls into someone, head bumping onto their shoulder. Someone small, and scrawny. There’s the tremor of a voice by his ear. He thinks it’s his name. But even indistinct and jumbled, he knows those tones.

_Zi-O_.

The tension seems to go out of him. His arm falls forward, limp and swinging—and bumps into something at the other Rider’s waist. Somewhere far away, or maybe not so far, the Another Rider roars. It’s coming back. And like this, Zi-O’s back is open.

The realisation is enough to make his hand twitch, and his foggy brain remembers what else he was holding. Leaning his entire weight on the other boy, he raises his right hand in what feels like a losing fight against gravity. He wills his fingers to slide around the edge of the circle, faintly feels the vibration as it activates. He fumbles forward with it, blindly, and after one false try succeeds in attaching it to the belt. He feels the body against him jolt in surprise.

Flailing slightly, his left arm comes up, bloodied hand grabbing a handful of fabric and even some skin on the back of Zi-O’s shoulder. Gathering his breath, he forces his voice to work one last time.

“If… You die here…” He growls softly. “I will **definitely** kill you… Sougo.” With the very last of his strength, he turns the Driver. Zi-O’s transformation announcement rings out.

It’s not the worst death knell. Even if it is a little ironic.

He careens sideways, arms dropping limply to the ground, slipping off the other Rider’s shoulder, towards the ground. Gloved, armoured hands grab his head, shoulders, cradling them, still desperately trying to support him. But his vision is fading, tunnelling. He can’t even hear Sougo’s voice anymore.

He sees Zi-O’s helmet, bent over him in frantic concern, adorned in his own colours. It’s a sight that makes him almost smile.

His eyes don’t close, when he finally goes still. But he sees nothing more.


	12. LuPat: Kairi (feat. Keiichiro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an idea from iris-14cheonsa (on Tumblr).
> 
> References to Keiichiro, though he does not physically appear. Technically.

It’s not Keiichiro.

Intellectually, he knows that. And besides, even if the image is a perfect replica, it’s clearly just slightly off. The way he’s standing, the tilt of his head… Little things that make it extremely obvious that the person before him is **not** PatrenIchigou.

So why can’t he fire? Why is his hand trembling? Why is his finger frozen, hovering above the trigger?

Why can he shoot an illusion of his own brother, but not a Gangler wearing a cop’s face?

Kairi continues to stare back at his opponent, grateful that the suit helmet hides the terror and uncertainty he’s sure is on his face. Dogranio, meanwhile, does nothing but wait, smiling his cruel smile with Keiichiro’s features. Kairi hates it, hates him, but he still can’t seem to pull the trigger.

It doesn’t make any sense. The only reason dealing with Keiichiro was so difficult to deal with was because he was like Shouri, right? It might have been through interacting with the cop that he started to better understand his brother, to begin to set aside the resentment he’d harboured, but that was only because they were so similar. It had nothing to do with Keiichiro himself. So why could he shoot one and not the other?

 _Because it_ ** _is_** _different_ , whispers a little voice, deep inside him, _because it’s_ ** _Kei-chan_**.

Under his helmet, Kairi blinks. He’s been thinking of them almost interchangeably—but they’re not, are they? Keiichiro is more than a person he’s found himself looking up to, more than someone who just helped him understand his brother—he’d helped him understand **himself** , accepted him as himself, both at his worst and best, without any expectations; something Shouri had never really had the chance to do. All his life, most of the people he’s ever met have looked at him as ‘Shouri’s brother,’ regarded him in terms of Shouri’s accomplishments. He had to be good at basketball because Shouri was. Of course he got good grades because look at who his brother was. ‘Just as expected from Yano Shouri’s little brother’ were words he’d heard over and over and over again until they kept him awake at night.

Touma and Umika had been his first big break from that, but even then, for the longest time, he’d fought to keep a rift between them. Even then, there were things he was expected to do as ‘LupinRed,’ even when he was still figuring out who LupinRed was. He’s grateful, now, for the first month or so where Touma took the initiative in their first few fights, or, even as she was stumbling through it herself, Umika would tug his sleeve and point him in the right direction, until he finally got his footing. But there was still that lagging shadow over it all, that, sometimes, they wanted—needed—him to be something he wasn’t sure he was.

And then there was Keiichiro. Loud, intense, simple Keiichiro. Who looked at him and saw not a thief, not someone else’s little brother, but a person. A young boy desperately trying to figure out who he really was. He’d never meant for them to get close. And even then, he’d told himself the fondness he was feeling was because Keiichiro reminded him of his brother. But that wasn’t true. At least, not completely. Because it turned out Keiichiro understood better than expected the desperate desire to escape from being defined by others. While Kairi had found himself lacking in comparison to his brother, Keiichiro had been struggling to prove to himself he was better than his father. Because Keiichiro didn’t try to tell him who he was, who to be, never gave him false reassurances, always saying exactly how he felt and meant. Just wanted to support him while he figured it out for himself, not push him down a particular path. And in doing so, he’d become the pillar, the foundation Kairi needed, that Shouri hadn’t been able to be—or at the least had never really gotten the chance.

Kairi wonders if it’s unfair to Shouri, for him to be relying on someone so much who was, just a year ago, a complete stranger, more than his own brother. It’s probably the worst betrayal he could possibly commit, at this point. He wonders if Shouri could forgive him for it, should he ever return. He doesn’t know.

What he does know was that when one of his new greatest fears came to pass, when Keiichiro learned that he and LupinRed were the same person—and they truly were, now, thanks to Keiichiro himself—he hadn’t done what Kairi had been terrified he would. He didn’t rescind the support, care, and protection he’d given him, didn’t abandon him to a cold, dark fate.

Instead, he stepped between Kairi and Zamigo, and gave everything to protect the person he should have been resenting most.

Now, Kairi wished Keiichiro had abandoned him. Wished dearly that they’d never met. Or, at least, never become friends.

Because then he wouldn’t have failed him.

He hesitates for a little longer, finger still frozen, hand still shaking.

And then he drops the gun.


	13. Zi-O: Geiz and Sougo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively known as: _Part Geiz_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended as a two-parter with the next chapter.

It was like time slowed down.

It hadn’t, Geiz was reasonably sure. The Time Jackers had no reason to interfere, this was in their favour, and Zi-O didn’t have that power yet. No, it was just his perception, his senses sharpening drastically at a critical moment. Seconds, fractions of seconds, each seemed like eternity, long enough to be aware of everything.

Zi-O had just noticed the incoming blast—but it was well-past too late for him to dodge. So he just stood there, frozen in shock, while fiery doom bore down upon him.

Why did he suddenly look so **small**?

He’d known when he’d decided to pursue this course that it wasn’t going to be simple or easy. They’d treated the plan as a last resort right from the beginning; even if he knew exactly what sort of crimes someone **would** commit, the Ouma Zi-O of the past would be, for all intents and purposes, still innocent. That was why, even though it might have been easier to go back even further, he’d never once considered it.

Geiz could push himself to a lot in desperation, but he didn’t think he could go that far.

So it was supposed to be fast. Go back to 2018, take out Ouma Zi-O before he could think about it too much, change the past, get back out. Don’t consider. Don’t see the target as anything other than the monstrous overlord of the future. For heaven’s sake, you’re a soldier. Act like it.

Why had it gotten so damn **complicated**?

Tsukuyomi’s moral concerns about the plan had made her follow him, run interference—buying enough time for his own conflict to resurface.

And Tokiwa Sougo himself had just made matters worse.

The boy was infuriating, obtuse as a rock, obnoxiously wily on occasion, and self-absorbed—but his current intentions were generally honest. He fought because he wanted to help people, would change the past to save others when he could, and went out of his way to be nice to Geiz even when Geiz went out of his way to do the opposite.

Ouma Zi-O he still wanted to kill, more than anything. But Tokiwa Sougo…

It had been getting harder and harder to see them as one and the same. Every day, he’d have to remind himself that they were. Every day, he kept thinking that he should just do it, get it over with, no matter what Tsukuyomi said. But every day… It would be something. An Another Rider. Breakfast. Grocery shopping. A customer. And he just couldn’t seem to actually go through with it.

And it kept getting harder to look at Sougo and see Ouma Zi-O. Not even avoiding his name was helping. And now, silhouetted against a mass of angry flame, he doesn’t see Ouma Zi-O at all. He sees a frightened young man, frozen in terror. He sees something he saw multiple times during the fighting in 2068, that he never thought he’d see here, much less in relation to Zi-O.

He sees a friend in danger.

Geiz’s legs moved without command, springing up and rushing forward. The last time, he’d failed to make it in time, was blown back by the massive force as it stuck, been unable to do anything but crawl through the resulting wreckage until he’d found the body.

But now, even with seconds like years, even when he’s moving just as slow, he’s close enough. In just a couple agonising steps, he could feel the heat on his suit, and was almost within an arm’s breadth of Zi-O. He put all his weight into one last lurch forward, throwing up a hand.

When he felt his palm connect with Zi-O’s arm as he shoved him hard, a word tore from him that he'd swore to himself he’d never utter;

“Sougo!”

His focus stayed on the other Rider as Zi-O was knocked scrambling to the ground, then whirled to look frantically back at him, knowing perfectly well what was about to happen and not caring anymore.

He wondered, privately, how he could have failed so spectacularly in his mission, to be saving the one he was supposed to kill.

And then the fireball hit.


	14. Zi-O: Geiz and Sougo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively known as _Part Sougo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended as a two-parter with the previous chapter.  
> ...  
> Also this is bad and I am sorry.

For a moment—probably less, actually—everything was frozen.

Sougo’s movements were jerky and slow as he tried to get his bearings after hitting the ground, spinning around to look for who had pushed him, even though he already knew.

Even when it was calling out a word as foreign to it as his name, he knew that voice. He knew before he even finished turning who it was, the panic rising in his chest—far faster than anything else was moving—bursting fourth in a terrified cry;

“Geiz!”

Geiz didn’t move; because it was barely a second, however long it seemed to Sougo. The other Rider’s head was cocked slightly to the side, like he, too, was genuinely surprised by what he had just done—which made sense. Though their relationship had drastically changed,lost the majority of its hostility, Sougo had never even dreamed Geiz would ever go **this** far for him—though perhaps that was because this situation would have fit better into nightmares than dreams.

One of his arms drags itself up through the thickness of his slowed perception, even the fingertips stretching out. If he could just grab onto Geiz’s arm, his hand, **something** , pull him down, too, then maybe…

Maybe he could save his friend.

And maybe he was imagining it, but in that slow, elongated moment, he’d swear that Geiz’s arm twitched upwards, reaching back towards him, without hesitation.

And then in a roar of heat and flame, the blast struck. And time returned to normal.

Sparks and smoke filled Sougo’s vision, debris forcing him to duck and cover his head. He heard a thud of something— **someone** —slamming hard into cement to his left, a sound not that unusual that was somehow horrible when he knew what it was.

He came back up as quickly as he could, casting about. He found Geiz on the ground several paces away, deHenshined, sprawled on his side, far too still for comfort. It was enough to bring his aching legs back to life, to heave himself up and stumble over, dropping onto the ground beside the other Rider like something had let the air out of him, dropping his own transformation. His hands scrambled on Geiz’ shoulders, trying to pull him protectively close and check the damage at the same time.

There was a massive crater in the wall, the force with which Geiz had been thrown into it having destroyed part of the cement, which wasn’t a good sign. There was some comfort—he could feel the other boy’s shallow breathing in his arms, even though it was haphazard, weak, and pained, and he didn’t think anything was broken. But it also felt like Geiz was trembling—even shivering—against him. There was blood in his mouth, and smearing from numerous other gashes and grazes—from when he’d hit the wall and ground, Sougo assumed—and masses of nasty burns from where the fire had made contact. When he lay a hand against the back of Geiz’s head while cradling it to his shoulder, the palm came away wet and red, blood clotting in the other Rider’s hair. He must have slammed his head into the wall when he was knocked out of his transformation. This was even worse.

It was wrong, too. Geiz felt small and fragile in his arms, shaking even while unconscious, breathing laboured. Not only was he taller than Sougo, but his steadfast personality always rejected and masked anything that might even possibly be construed as weakness. Ordinarily, he would never consent to being cradled wounded in **anyone’s** arms, especially Sougo’s—but now his eyes gave no sign of opening, and the only change in his expression were faint, unconscious winces.

But that was why he’d known he could trust Geiz right from the start. Not necessarily to be nice to him or not take a swing at him, but to be honest with him. Lying or deceiving were things Geiz was completely incapable of—Sougo was pretty sure he didn’t even know the meaning of the words. He could not and would not pretend to be other than what he was; true, honourable, earnest. Good. Too good to kill a person in cold blood when he actually thought about it, why most of his attempts never seemed to go through, or even have the same murderous intent as their original meeting.

Despite repetitive threats, the more time they’d spent together, the less enmity had been behind them. Though the other boy’s difficult life had made him uncertain and even afraid of showing any sentiment whatsoever, Sougo had even begun to suspect that Geiz actually liked him—liked him enough to risk forgoing the most direct route to save the future, probably the only even remotely selfish thing Geiz had ever done.

When he’d found out he was right, in a way, it was just as exciting as reaffirming him dreams—maybe even more so, though if he ever said that to Geiz he knew the other boy would immediately panic and flee the room—because he was very clear on how faithful a friend he’d finally made. Woz had once claimed that Tsukuyomi and Geiz weren’t on his side—he supposed that had been true when Woz actually said it, but now… Now he was reasonably Tsukuyomi and Geiz were the only ones who were actually on **his** side. On Tokiwa Sougo’s side. On the side of the person he was now, of the king he wanted to be, not a twisted version already decided for him. Not Ouma Zi-O’s—like Woz himself, or Kisshan. And he knew he could rely on them. Sure, Geiz’s trust had been a battle to gain, but once won, his loyalty ran deep.

… Deep enough to throw himself between a fireball and someone he’d originally intended to kill. Perhaps he should have this day coming.

Something moved behind him, and he remembered their opponents were still there. Under usual circumstances, he supposed he could have handled them alone, thought it would have been painful. But Geiz being out of commission—and possibly concussed, bleeding internally, or worse, noted a voice in his head that really loved to make things worse—made him a target, and Sougo didn’t think he could fight that hard and protect his friend at the same time. So instead, he fumbled for his Bike Watch, activating it as quickly as possible. Trying to leverage Geiz as gently as he could, he heaved the wounded Rider up and loaded him onto the back of the bike, scrambling on himself and hitting the gas. He didn’t know were they were going or how long he could drive, but it was the only option without the Time Majins on hand, especially as he heard other engines rev behind them.

So he drove, shifting slightly so that he could feel Geiz’s heartbeat, ailing and small, but still just barely noticeable, through his back.

And prayed that Tsukuyomi would find them first.


	15. Zi-O: Geiz (feat. Sougo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geiz has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a long, gruelling plane ride.  
> That's it, that's the reason.  
> (okay I also was in a soft tsundere mood)

It’s raining.

Pouring, actually, but he can’t seem to care. His whole world is focused in on the little body in his arms—cold and still and pale. He holds it to his chest tightly as he can, cradling the head in one hand, tucking it under his chin. But even when he closes his eyes and holds perfectly still, he can’t seem to feel either heartbeat or breath within.

It’s foolish, he knows. To be searching for signs of life in a corpse he created. But he can’t help himself.

_I’m sorry_.

He can’t seem to say the words out loud, so he just thinks them as hard as possible, hoping they reach they place they need to be. His body folds in, wrapping even more around the person in his hold, his shoulders beginning to tremble.

_I’m so sorry_.

His hands moves to stroke the wet hair, as if he could possible offer the deceased some sort of comfort from it. Then he’s rocking back and forth on his knees, wishing the rain could wash away everything that just happened, everything he’s just done.

_I’m so, so sorry_.

The head lolls out of his hold, falling back against his arm, forcing him to look at the face again. And even now there’s a smile on it, even now it looks relaxed and peaceful—and that just makes it hurt all the more. Why did he have to smile as he died?

_I’m so, so, so sorry_.

Something moves by his shoulder—footsteps, a familiar, pale coat. Because this was destiny. This was the only way. But was it really? He doesn’t hear the words being said, but he knows what they are.

Is this his fated sacrifice for the future? To break his heart in two?

_I’m so, so, so, so sorry_.

A hand brushes his shoulder, but he jerks away from it. Just pulls the body closer still, cradling the head back against his shoulder, leaning his forehead against the pale one, his thumb subconsciously stroking the side of the face. His will shatters, and the first sob crawls from him as a soft whimper, then they grow louder as the fit continues. Soon he doesn’t know if the water running down his face is rain or tears.

He wants to stay there forever, sheltering the body of the friend he killed.

He wants to die, too.

_I’m sorry_.

_I’m so sorry_.

_I’m so sorry, Sougo_.

Geiz woke in a cold sweat, his whole body shaking. He’d somehow managed to tangle himself in his only blanket during night, and it was a moment before he figured out how to get free. That done, he immediately checked to make sure he hadn’t woken Tsukuyomi. Fortunately, she was still across the room, in her own makeshift bed, sleeping peacefully—apparently free of the nightmares that had roused him. Which reminded him of the other nagging, overwhelming feeling. Something else he needed to check.

Some **one**.

Climbing silently out of bed, he made his way across the floor to the door, slipping out. He’d snuck upstairs i the middle of the night before, but usually just to scope things out. He didn’t doubt, of course, that he **could** get into Zi-O’s room undetected, he’d just never gone that far before, preferring to wait on the landing until the other Rider came out.

Tonight, however, his subconscious wouldn’t let him stop there.

He tested the door slightly to be sure it didn’t creak, then pushed it open just enough to slide inside. His eyes got used to the dark quickly, and he soon found what he was there to check.

Zi-O was still in bed, very clearly asleep—but, more importantly, very clearly breathing. He was smiling there, too, but a proper, natural one—not the slack, lifeless one he’d had in imaginary death. He was lying in a pile of stuffed animals, which was unbelievably childish, but also so very him at the same time. He must have been thrashing about, though, because some of them had fallen to the floor, and his blankets were kicked off and crumpled in a corner.

With a sigh, Geiz slipped forward, crouching to collect the fallen toys before crossing over and rearranging them on the bed around Zi-O’s head. When he was satisfied with that, he found the edge of the blanket and pulled it back over the other Rider, tucking it back around him. Zi-O rolled over at one point, and he very nearly leapt back out the door to avoid discovery, but the other boy didn’t wake.

Once he was done, his hand hovered over the other Rider’s head for a moment—not touching so that he didn’t awake him, but close enough to feel hair brushing his palm.

“… I promise.” He whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was renewing his original vow, or swearing to prevent his own nightmare, but the words came out all the same in sorrowful breath. But there would be questions if anyone woke up to find him up there—so he snatched his hand back and headed back to the door, squeezing out of it again; then pausing, looking back one last time before he went.

Just to make sure Sougo really was still breathing.


	16. LuPat: Kairi and Keiichiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is an older one that requires a bit of explaining:  
> I wrote this not long after that Tidbit where Keiichiro electrocutes himself to help find the hostages (one of the earlier chapter in this series). Anyway, this was also based on this power up idea I had for the show near the beginning. Bc the Patos fused as a final attack, I thought it would be cool if there was some sort of inter-team power up that required a Lupinranger and a Patranger fusing to work, and featured elements of both their designs and their abilities.  
> And thus, the imaginary VS Ultimate was born. VS Ultimate requires a V and and S vehicle to work, some… how involves Good Striker, and is only achievable via perfect synchronisation, acceptance, and harmony between the two halves.You know, since bodysharing is back in this year. ^^  
> Anyway, this would occur after… One of Keiichiro’s deaths? Where his ghost, essentially, powers his equipment from beyond the grave to fuse one more time and fight–resulting in, naturally, a Kamen Rider Double-esque goodbye scene.  
> Because why not?

_Wait_.

Their left hand—Keiichiro’s side—froze over the VS Changer. There was a moment of silence.

 _Wait_. Kairi repeated, finally, then, _Let me do it_.

He felt Keiichiro hesitate, but then the cop just switched the Changer into his hand and waited for Kairi. Their right hand reached for the barrel, then stopped again.

_If we… If I… If I undo the transformation, then you… Then you’re really… Then you’re really gone._

_… Yes_. Was all Keiichiro said.

There was more silence in their shared mind. Kairi could just barely sense emotions churning just beyond the reach of their bond—which was unusual, because Keiichiro was usually easy to read even when they weren’t sharing a mind—whatever it was PatrenIchigou was feeling, the cop seemed determined to keep it from him.

_I… I don’t know if I can do this without you. I mean, isn’t the point of VS Ultimate accepting someone as part of you? If you disappear now…_

_It’s not going to be like that._

Suddenly, the restrained emotions made more sense.

Keiichiro didn’t want Kairi to feel him finally die.

 _That’s not what I meant. I… Kei-chan, I…_ He suddenly felt very small, suddenly felt his age. It made him angry. He was just a kid, why was the universe doing this to him? Why couldn’t he hold on to more than one person at a time? Even in their mental space, his voice broke.  _… I don’t want you to die_.

… _Kairi_. Keiichiro’s voice is slow and deliberate, completely matter of fact. _I’m already dead_.

That was right. Just few hours ago he’d cradled PatrenIchigou in his arms as the cop’s heart stuttered to a halt. All that was left were echos of emotion, the ghost of an iron will, remains of a determination to protect so powerful it defied even in death. The memory sent a sharp stab of agony through him, and he felt Keiichiro’s mental walls shake at the feeling—but not crumble.

No one was supposed to die, except **maybe** one of the three of them. **Especially** not Kei-chan. His guilt mounted as he wondered how he could let this happen.

 _Kairi_. Keiichiro interrupted his regrets. _This isn’t your fault. I made this choice_. His grief had left his mind far more open than it usually was in their connection. It was as if they had switched dispositions.

 _You made it because of me_. He replied.

 _I made it because of_ ** _me_** , Keiichiro shot back. But his voice sounded strained, slightly, and there was a quiver against Kairi’s mind, a flickering—like the cop was in pain, his spirit fluttering against the binds of their combined form.

… _What about your mother?_ It’s a cruel, unfair question, but one he has to ask. If not for Keiichiro himself, then for the sake of the woman who knitted him a sweater, snuck him silly treats when Touma wasn’t looking, and who’d told him he could call her ‘Ka-san.’ For the sake of the mother he’d never had, found in a person who owed him nothing but opened her heart to him all the same. For the sake of the woman who made Kei-chan into Kei-chan.

 _… Tell her I love her_. Was the honest reply. Kairi considers saying that he’s pretty sure she knows that, when Keiichiro adds, with another silent sigh, _And maybe tell the others I’m sorry. I don’t want hurt you guys._ No, of course not. Asaka Keiichiro would never willingly hurt another person—not without reason. He’d seen too much of it before, and vowed never to repeat it.

But then he feels Keiichiro straining again, like his soul is trapped, held back from where it needs to go; his hesitation is making the cop suffer. Finally, their right hand lights on the barrel, gripping just a little too tight.

 _Love you, too, kid._ Keiichiro whispers in his mind, a response to something Kairi felt, but couldn’t say. It’s so direct, plain, certain, and simple. Just like Keiichiro himself. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d been called ‘kid’ was, but he’s certain it didn’t hurt that much. Even though it’s impossible, he has the sensation of a hand softly ruffling his hair. _Be well._ Then, _You can do it, Kairi. Trust me_.

And because he does, with all his heart, Kairi turns the Changer.

VS Ultimate dissipates. He feels Keiichiro’s consciousness being pulled away like air being siphoned from his lungs, until he’s just himself, standing there, holding his Dial Fighter, feeling inexplicably hollow, young, and lost. Trigger Machine Ichigou drops to the ground like a stone, no strong hand actually there to catch it, the traces of resolve that had activated it from beyond the grave gone completely. Just a VS Vehicle, sitting listlessly on the cold ground.

And for the first time in a long while, Kairi felt truly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanoning in there, but, well, it's me.


	17. Zi-O: Sougo (feat. Geiz)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sougo has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively known as 'Things Firebird Is Doing Instead Of Working On Their Chaptered Fics.'  
> Like ‘Things George R. R. Martin is doing instead of writing the next Game of Thrones book’ but not as fun and way less anticipated.

It’s freezing.

He’s surprised that he can’t see his breath, that there isn’t frost forming on the plating of his armour. Maybe, though… Maybe the air is just feeling that much more icy because he’s so used to the one he’s kneeling beside being an unending wealth of resilience, support, and warmth. In the past, he’d quickly come to the conclusion that Geiz’s body temperature naturally ran just a few degrees higher than everyone else’s.

Maybe that’s why it’s taking him longer than normal to go cold, despite how chilly the air seems.

 _I cannot regret it—I am so sorry_.

It feels as if there’s something swinging back and forth in his head, two sides of him struggling with one another. Like a weight shaken free of its anchor when a clock tower begins to crumble. His palm is still hovering above Geiz’s arm, not quite touching—the half that’s guilty doesn’t think he deserves any more closeness—but he can still feel the heat fading from the other Rider’s body through the glove of the suit.

Inside him, the weight continues to swing on its rope.

He wonders, in uncertainty and fear, which side of him is the real one—but every time he looks back at Geiz’s face, blank and far too peaceful for his state, one of them gets just a little louder, the other Rider giving him one last bit of comfort, even now, even here.

 _You failed me—_ ** _I failed you_**.

Half of him wants to drop the armour—to pull the body into his arms, cradle him to his chest, and try to preserve some of the escaping heat, forcibly keep it where it belongs—but the other side won’t let him. So the warmth continues to diminish, while all he can do was kneel on the ground, stock still, hand floating in the air. It feels like he’s chipped away at his own foundation, destroyed the very bedrock holding himself up. The weight is swinging free because he cut its anchor, cracked the base of the tower; no more is there a steadfast stone to fall back on, gone one of the only two people he knew without a doubt he could trust, by his own damn hands.

And now there’s blood on those hands that he’ll never be able to wash off.

Painful as it is, he keeps staring at Geiz’s face, looking so much like he’s asleep he can almost convince himself the other Rider really is just taking a nap in the worst place ever—save for the stillness of his chest, the way the warmth is leaving him, that there’s hardly any blood coming from his wounds anymore.

But he keeps looking at him—just to keep that one voice slightly louder than the other.

_How could you make me do this?—_ **_How could I have done this?_ **

He’s angry, yes. Angry at his own weakness, that he couldn’t stop himself from committing this crime anyway, despite his desire to so—despite his victim’s own trust that he could.

Angry because he knows the moment he turns away from that face will be the moment he finally seals his destiny of becoming a monster.

Angry because he knows he can’t put it off much longer.

Angry because there’s one thing both sides of him agree on.

 ** _You did not deserve_** **_this fate_**.

But the body is finally cold now.

Slowly, stiffly, he reaches over to gently take hold of Geiz’s wrists—even his ashamed half allowing contact for this act of respect—and folds the other Rider’s hands together on his chest, tucking the Ride Watch into them.

Then, using the most of his chance at proximity, he leans to cup Geiz’s face in both hands, gazing at for one last, long moment. Like he could memorise the features to somehow keep the effect it had on him.

He knows he can’t, but he still wants to try.

Running his fingers over the other Rider’s hair once, in what he has a fearful suspicion will be his last gentle act in a very long time—possibly forever—he releases Geiz’s face and wrenches his eyes away, dragging himself to his feet, turning his back.

Turning to face the darkness, leaving behind a broken promise.

 ** _Please, god, forgive me, my friend_**.

Sougo rolled right out of bed and onto to the floor.

He woke instantly, immediately sitting up and glancing around, straining his ears to hear if he’d woken anyone else with the sound—but he didn’t hear anything from his uncle’s end of the hall. After collecting his blankets and stuffed animals, however, he still didn’t feel comfortable with the concept of going back to bed. His heart was fluttering, and he had a slight urge to throw up, and an irremovable sense of dread that falling asleep again would put him right back in the same nightmare. So instead, he pulled on his slippers and padded his way downstairs toward the kitchen, in search of a glass of water.

He was halfway through the dining room when he noticed the figure on the couch.

He’d seen his uncle fall asleep on the couch, had done it himself, as well—but he still wasn’t expecting to find Geiz there, clearly asleep, even though he was practically sitting upright. Sougo forgot about the water, shuffling softly over to peer at the other Rider. He’d been thoroughly warned by Tsukuyomi that forcibly waking Geiz up wasn’t a good idea, but the other boy was going to hurt his neck the way he was. So, very, very carefully, he leaned over and picked up one of the pillows from the corner of the couch, setting it against the back; then, with equal caution and gentleness, he leaned the other Rider’s head back so that it was supported, rather than just hanging forward.

When he’d done that, though, his hand strayed over to Geiz’s shoulder and stayed there—just feeling the motions of the other Rider’s breathing, his uniquely high body temperature, the way his shoulders were always tense, even when he was asleep. There’s no unhinged weight swinging back and forth in him now, no warring halves. He was still himself, still knew his own heart—unclouded by whatever else had been on his mind in the dream.

But even though he knew it hadn’t been real—especially now, with his hand on Geiz’s shoulder, close enough to feel his heartbeat—it had still been too close for comfort. That he could lose his way, that it had felt so easy.

That he could actually take someone’s life, especially that of a friend.

Unconsciously, his hand tightened on Geiz’s shoulder, wetness forming in his eyes. The sleeping Rider didn’t wake, fortunately, but he did frown slightly in his sleep, like he felt the pressure.

“I won’t do it.” Sougo whispered to him, intensely as he dared. “I **won’t**.”

He waited another moment, soaking in the tactile proof that Geiz was there, whole and alive, then removed his hand, sighing softly. Bending down, he gathered up one of the couch blankets and tucked it around the other Rider. He reached out to steady Geiz’s head against the pillow, then froze, the motion bringing forth a terrible memory of the way his armoured hand had done something so similar before accepting his fate in the dream, and he couldn’t follow through. Instead, he added another pillow, swallowing and chewing his lip nervously, then turned and hurried to the kitchen to fetch the water he’d originally come for.

On the way back towards his room, he paused to count the rises and falls of Geiz’s chest as he breathed. After finding the rhythm, he continued counting all the way upstairs and as he got back in bed.

When he fell asleep with the pattern still tracking through his mind, he had no more nightmares for the rest of the night.


	18. Zi-O: Geiz and Sougo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's cold here, okay?

Their breath was forming huge clouds in the air. Geiz could hear Zi-O’s teeth chattering from across the room, and the cold was even creeping through the layers of his jacket—he could only imagine how bad it was for the other boy, being significantly scrawnier and dressed in knits. He was already trying to blink as quickly and as little as possible so that his eyes didn’t freeze shut, and numbness was creeping down his cheeks. There was frost forming in their hair, and it was becoming harder to move around.

Unfortunately, they were having no luck in finding any sort of door or fault in the frozen walls.

When he could hardly feel his fingers, he stepped back, sighing a large cloud of water vapour and tucking his hands back into his sleeves, hiding them under his arms. “Find anything?” His voice quavered, just a little. But Zi-O was already shaking his head, and huddling into himself even more—if that were even possible. “… Damnit.” He muttered, then started pacing slowly, trying to stay in motion.

“Where… Even… Are we?” Zi-O wondered, in between his teeth clicking together, rubbing his hands for friction.

“No idea.” Geiz told him, honestly. He checked his Ride Watches and found them trapped to the holder. “But the temperature seems to be dropping.” He looked over at the other Rider, who had crouched down, hugging his knees and shivering. “You need to move.” He told him. “We need to generate as much heat as possible.” When the other boy’s only response was his head drooping, Geiz marched over and unfolded his arms to grab his elbow, pulling him up.“Hey! Don’t space out!” He shook Zi-O a little to try and get him to snap out of it.

“Sorry… Sorry…” The other Rider mumbled, his face making a few minor twitches as he tried to shake off the ice dust on it that was drifting from the ceiling. Then, it made and expression almost like one of his little smirks. “… I think… You’ve got the advantage here…”

Geiz rolled his eyes, pacing away again in slow, aching movements. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He growled back. His own shivering was becoming more severe, and there was a coating of frost over his clothes that crunched when he moved. It was getting colder.

Zi-O managed to shuffle up beside him, following his trail. “I’m… Pretty sure… Your temperature… Is naturally higher… Than other people’s… So… You’re not as cold now…”

“That’s… Ridiculous…” He tried to think of something further to say, but his mind was starting to slow down, too. He couldn’t feel his face anymore, and a glance at Zi-O showed that the other Rider’s lips were starting to turn bluish.

“Must be… All the jackets…” Zi-O continued faintly, as if he hadn’t heard, looking at some place on the wall rather than at Geiz, eyes slightly unfocused. “… It’s okay… I like your jackets…”

He looked sharply as he could at the other boy, and would have frowned had he been able to move his face. “… Are you going delirious?” Even through the cold and difficulty speaking, he heard a concerned edge enter his voice he hadn’t meant to put there.

Zi-O didn’t answer directly, stopped following him, merely wavering on his feet. “… I’m sorry…” He mumbled, and might have been talking to himself, until, “… I’m sorry… I make you mad… All the time…”

Geiz managed a step toward him. “I…” He was already uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, and the cold addling his brain was making things worse. But if Zi-O was talking, it meant his brain and body hadn’t shut down—yet, anyway. “… I’m not… Angry, I…” Even while freezing, his interpersonal uncertainty pricked at his chest, and he turned away to try and quell it. “I’m… I’m just…”

There was a thump behind him, making him turn. Zi-O had slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor in a shuddering heap.

“… Hey.” No answer. “Hey!” Forcing his stiffening body to move faster, he lurched over to the other Rider’s side, kneeling down and grabbing him by the arms and shaking him. “Hey! Zi-O!” The other boy’s face was veering into deathly pale, and his lips were properly blue. His eyes were half closed, and he gave no indication he heard Geiz’s voice at all. “Sougo!” That elicited a slight response, a small brow twitch and a head tilt. But the other Rider’s eyes didn’t reopen fully, and he stayed mostly limp.

“No… No no no no…” He ran his hands up and down Sougo’s arms, even taking the other Rider’s hands in his and rubbing them for him, trying to keep the boy’s blood moving. “No… You do **not** get to freeze to death…” Reaching up, he tried to get the clip holding on his collar open, but found it too frozen to cooperate—then Sougo aimlessly mumbled something about starting to feel warmer, and rather than spend time struggling with it, he just grabbed the strap and yanked as hard as he could. After a moment, the material snapped, not built for such low temperatures. Once he had that off, he pulled Sougo closer, leaning the boy against his side while he fumbled with the front of his jacket, pulling the zipper open and removing it—passingly grateful he’d elected to wear a long sleeved shirt underneath it. Putting an arm back around Sougo’s shoulders, he repositioned the other boy so that he was curled with his side against his chest, and wrapped the coat tightly around him, covering as much as he could. “… Hope you’re right about the temperature thing…” He mumbled despite himself, cradling Sougo closer, tucking the other Rider’s head against his collarbone, holding the icy fingers in his hands again and rubbing them once more.

He could feel the coldness of Sougo’s body through the fabric of his shirt—a different sort of chill then the one in the air. His own body was starting to feel heavy and weak, so he just bundled the other boy closer to his chest and shifting them slightly, wedging himself between the other Rider and the ice of the wall. His mind was finally going dark, too, and his movements began to slow. He managed to make certain Sougo’s hands were safely tucked into the jacket and his arms wrapped tightly around the other Rider to hold him in place in his bundle before his strength gave out, his head dropping forward to leaning his face into the Sougo’s hair.

“… I’m not angry…” The words were less than a whisper, a faint smear of white in the air. “… I’m not… Angry…” His eyes started to drift closed. “… I’m scared.”

Then, darkness.


	19. Zi-O: Geiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to Sougo and Tsukuyomi.

Maybe she’s right.

It’s a thought that occurs to him once or twice every few hours.

Maybe she’s right, and there is no coming back from this. Maybe his hesitation is only going to lead to disaster, after all. Maybe it’s better to just cut their losses and finish it now.

But then Sougo smiles that big, dumb smile of his, and everything turns topsy-turvy.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? That Sougo is still **Sougo**.

And that now, that **means** something.

It means he’s frustrating, obtuse, impossible to read properly, and deceptively cheerful. It means he’s easily distracted, likes to make dumb jokes, and snores so loudly it can be heard through the walls. It means that his laugh is more of a giggle, he wiggles his feet like a child when he does it, and if someone shows him a math problem he goes crosseyed. It means when he looks sad, he makes a face like a kicked puppy.

It means he’ll face his shadow, reset time, step toward a future he rejects, for someone else’s sake.

And that’s always the last straw.

That he knows, somehow, for certain, that Sougo would never have done this if it hadn’t been for him. He’s got enough guilt already—for that, and other things. He doesn’t need to add betraying the one who saved his life to the list.

Admittedly, he doesn’t know for certain that he died; but sometimes, in between the snores, there’s crying, and—especially in the last few days—he sometimes hears his name, usually mixed together with an apology.

He hears ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ sometimes, too, but tries even harder not to listen when that happens.

Sougo’s not fragile, despite how small and harmless he looks. At least, it takes more than it seems like it should to crack him.

But he’s seen Sougo broken, now, and scared of himself—looking too much like a lost kitten, wide-eyed and shaking. And there’s something about that that leaves him with this obnoxious, invasive instinct to… Protect him.

He still wants a future without Ouma Zi-O. But a future without Sougo… Has steadily becoming significantly less appealing.

So maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe there’s no coming back from this.

But so long as every time he looks at that face, he sees a **person** , sees **Sougo** ; so long as each time the boy does something odd, all he can think is ‘ **really**? **This** is the guy? **This** one?’; so long as his chest clenches any time he even **thinks** about what she’s suggesting; so long as he still has to dodge hugs whenever he comes back from patrolling for Another Riders—and tries to pretend he wouldn’t actually like accepting them…

So long as Sougo is smiling that big, dumb smile of his, Geiz doesn’t think he can give up just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of headcanoning w/ the sleep talking and the 'mom' and 'dad' stuff, but I thought it would fit, so...


	20. Ryusoul: Banba (feat. Team)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CRACKED.  
> I couldn't wait anymore.

It used to be the only thing he was worried about was whether Touwa was getting himself into trouble.

But Touwa was here, curled up like a cat, asleep on the couch next to him, back pressed against the side of his leg. The ones who weren't there were… Those three.

He could be—should be, normally would be—asleep, too. The girl and her father were, having already retreated upstairs for the night. He’d certainly tried for a good while; but after hours of holding still and staring at the ceiling, unable to do anything but pointedly notice just how quiet everything was when those three weren’t around—which had then lead to thinking about how late it was and they weren’t back yet, about the different kinds of messes that could ensue if something happened—if Melt happened to turn his back on the other two for too long or at the wrong moment, if a Minosaur showed up… Eventually, his mind had become so cluttered with intrusive thoughts that he’d concluded it would be easier to just sit up and read.

Occasionally, his hand drifted down to rest on his brother’s shoulder, just to make sure he was still sleeping peacefully. One of them, at least, deserved to be rested. Periodically, Touwa shifted slightly, though the warmth of his back stayed pushed against his brother’s leg. He looked tiny when he slept like that, like he was still a small child, and things were still normal—even though they hadn’t been for a long time. It was times like this he wondered what Touwa’s life would have been like if they’d stayed that way. Better? He didn’t know if that would be an accurate word—it probably was. There were probably a lot of things better than dragging his kid brother into a fight where he could die at any time. Better, perhaps. But unimaginable.

As he turned the page, though, those usual thoughts about his brother spread to the other three as well. What would they be doing if things hadn’t gone to hell? Would their lives be better? A gruffer part of him immediately supposed that his would, because they’d be just as obnoxiously cheerful as always—especially Kou—just maybe not in his immediate area; but then a quieter, more gentle voice—one his subconscious usually reserved only for Touwa—wished rather that things had happened differently for the trio for their own sake—so that they wouldn’t have had to lose, or risk their lives fighting.

With a scowl, he refocused on his book, trying to mentally silence that voice and pretend he wasn’t going soft—then heard the door creak. He cast aside the book without bothering to even try marking the page, and carefully got up so as not to disturb his younger brother. He could hear the footsteps in the hall—Melt’s measured, light ones, Asuna’s steady stomps, and Kou’s chaotic tapping.

Their voices were sensibly hushed, but they still didn’t hear him approach until he asked, just loud enough to get their attention, leaning against the wall and folding his arms, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

All three of them whirled around to stare at him. Finally, Kou gave a ridiculous, sheepish grin. “Sorry.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “We got kind of lost.”

“You two got lost.” Melt corrected, while Asuna nodded along. Then Blue frowned, moving forward a bit to peer into the room. “… Were you waiting for us?”

“Of course not.” Was the sharp reply. He straightened up from the wall, unfolding his arms. “Go to bed before you all get distracted by something else.” He almost turned away, then paused and looked back. “And next time say something if you’re going to be out so late. The… Others were worried.”

Once more, all three pairs of eyes stared at him in shock. Then, they all broke into the most nonsensical, fond smiles—even Melt.

“Sure thing!” Asuna said cheerfully, then punched him in the arm—uninvited and with far too much force—as she slipped past toward the stairs. Melt just nodded politely, though still inexplicably smiling, and headed off in silence. Kou started toward him in a way that seemed dangerously like he was going for a hug, so he stopped rubbing his arm from Asuna’s hit, holding up a hand and giving Red a warning look. Fortunately, Kou got the message, and backed down, just a little awkwardly.

There was a moment where they just stared at each other—then Red fidgeted a little, scuffing his foot. “… Thanks.” He said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. “For waiting.” Then, without another word, he hurried past and disappeared.

Silence once more filled the building, but of a different kind; a strange sense of peace, and calm, like everything was suddenly in order.

He decided not to dwell on it, instead crossing back over to the couch. Turning the light off, he sat down beside Touwa again, draping his arm comfortably over his brother just for some subconscious reassurance, then put his feet up on the table in front of the sofa that he’d left his book on. Leaning heavily against the back of the couch and dropping his head down, he stared at the ceiling again for a moment, then closed his eyes.

That time, he was asleep in mere moments.

It used to be the only thing he was worried about was whether Touwa was getting himself into trouble.

Now, though, it seemed there were three more things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I took a few liberties, but hopefully it's all vague enough to still be applicable-ish later...  
> I hope.  
> Guess who one of my new faves is?! ^^


	21. Zi-O: Geiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Sougo and Tsukuyomi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Wow.  
> Way to kill my jam, Toei.  
> This is like... Whiplash from the previous Geiz chapter, and I'm really sorry. Certain... Narrative choices recently kinda got to me a little more than they usually would have bc of some personal issues, so I'm overreacting a little.  
> So here. Have a sad.

**Once you break a promise, you can’t remake it**.

Who was it who’d said that to him? His father, he thinks.

Yes, that was right. An angry old soldier, who remembered how things had been before it all went to hell—distantly, vaguely—a loss that had hardened him into a demanding and abrasive commander, who’d marched head high to his death with two dozen other fighters when his son was fourteen; leaving behind nothing but his strict training and rigid set of beliefs.

 **Once you walk away, you can’t walk back**.

That’s the ball and chain that creates an invisible chasm in the ground, a rift that only he can see.

He _wants_ to go back. Stomp across the gravel, and maybe punch Zi-O in the arm a little too hard for being an idiot. Or just for the sake of punching Zi-O. He _wants_ to prove to Zi-O that he’s not alone, that one of them, at least, still believes—especially now. He _wants_ to be able to break that ironclad rule of the man who did something like raise him; the same way he’s broken another…

 **Nothing comes before the mission**.

How long did he spend living by those words?

He wonders what his father would think if he saw him now—balking at a chance so many others fought for, _died_ for, including him. Shame, most likely. That any child of his would let emotion or conscience interfere with such an important task. No, not child. The man had had no children. He’d had trainees. By the time his son had been born, he’d long lost the ability to smile, made it clear he considered all kindness to have left him the day the world died. He’d never once raised a hand against any of his soldiers—but the cold disappointment in his gaze would be enough, that this failure is his only legacy.

His father wouldn’t hesitate. To kill Zi-O or to walk away.

But he’s not his father.

So why can’t he walk back?

Because…

Because now all three of those Watches exist. Now it’s safer if he stays away. Figure out what’s going on with Tsukuyomi. Keeps his distance. Stays somewhere he can easily disappear if he needs to. He’s already done enough damage.

Maybe if he’s gone, neither future will ever happen. Maybe that’s the answer.

Maybe if Zi-O stays away from him, he’ll stay safe, and he’ll stay Sougo.

 **Once you walk away, you can’t walk back**.

His father’s voice rings unwelcome in his head. Even now, it seems, he can only bring himself to break one of the man’s damn edicts. He really can’t stop being a soldier.

Or maybe he’s really just that weak.

He can’t walk back.

But he waits until his heart can’t take it anymore before he turns away.


	22. Ryusoul: Touwa and Banba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to the other three.  
> No mentions of Gold because I don't know anything about him as a character yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone help me.  
> I'm gonna end up thinking up random ideas for the whole damn show before it even gets here.

Kou is trying to pretend he’s not crying.

He’s not doing a very good job of it either—but if there’s one thing Touwa’s learned it’s that Kou can’t hide his emotions even if his life depends in it, so it’s no surprise, really. It’s especially obvious when he compares it to his brother’s demeanour, which he’s long been adept at reading.

But if they weren’t like that, Kou wouldn’t be Kou, and Nii-san wouldn’t be Nii-san—and he prefers them both the way they are.

Melt looks like part of him wants to cry, but the other parts are focused on staying calm.

Seems even he can’t keep a stiff upper lip at this, though he can sit and stare at a book with the same expression for hours. It’s two different things, Touwa supposes. It’s not like Melt’s emotionless or anything—though he’s sometimes confusing and says the opposite the tacit cues his behaviour gives out.

He’d once joked that maybe Melt like puzzles because he was one himself, and would still swear he’d heard RyusoulBlue laugh.

Asuna has apparently decided dignity is for the weak, and is sobbing without restraint.

She’s never been hard to read, either, but less due to being incapable of hiding her feelings and more because she’s never been afraid to, or seen any reason to do so. Asuna can be insensitive by accident, think about things in a way completely different from everyone else, and sometimes forgets her own strength—but always trustworthy and honest to the core.

He can’t understand the words she’s saying now, mostly blubbering and sniffling, but somehow, her hand motions are speaking clear as day.

No one has noticed either of them yet. His brother has propped himself up against the wall in the corner, watching the whole scene almost as impassively as usual—just with a tiny smile tugging at his frown; but Touwa can also see a slightly darker look in his eyes than usual, and his shoulders are slightly slumped. Two opposite emotions at war.

Happy they’re happy again, but also apprehensive of what else this means.

They’d known months ago. When they’d chosen to turn their backs on the village and head out on their own, they’d both been well aware it meant cutting all ties and never going back. Originally, it hadn’t been an issue—they were all each other had, there was nothing to leave behind. No regrets.

Until now.

Who asked these three to come and go and leave them like this?

Something brushes his shoulder, and he looks up to see that his brother had crossed to room to stand beside him, with his back deliberately to everyone else. He jerks his head once—indicating away. He doesn’t really say anything, not even mouthing the words, but the message is clear—one Touwa’s been dreading, even though he’s done his best to prepare for it in the past few weeks.

_It’s time_.

They’d known it would come to this, in the end. No matter what happened between them, what bonds they made, or how close they all became, they’d always known. It had made them still struggle to create a rift, even as it was filled in, a dark cloud over whatever other joy there was. A fear that had made him wish, just for a moment, that the fighting wouldn’t stop, could go on forever, just as long as the five of them could stay together.

But the truth had always been there, hanging unspoken in the air—very palpable to the two of them, though the others never seemed to realise.

That, one day, the those three would go somewhere they could never follow.

He meets his older brother’s eyes for a moment, then glances back at the others. He wants to say something, but he more than agrees with the decision his brother made when they sensed the moment approaching, that a clean break would be easier for all of them.

No goodbyes. Not this time.

He follows his brother in silence, slipping away into the scenery.

Eventually, though, he has to ask. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” The only answer is a shrug, though his brother’s eyebrows knit together a little deeper. It’s enough to make him speak again, coming slowly to a halt. “… It was nice while it lasted, though, wasn’t it? To… To have somewhere to belong again? To have… Family, again. At least for a little while?” A few paces ahead, his brother stops and looks over his shoulder. After a moment of his usual frown, he turns and walks back over.

Touwa feels an arm around his shoulders—then is pulled into his brother’s chest in a tight hug; a rare sign of affection from someone like Nii-san. He reaches up and hugs back, not wanting to waste the chance and needing the comfort.

“… Yes.” He feels his brother’s voice rumble in his chest at the same time he hears the words above him, murmured into his hair. “… It was nice.”

And once more, all they have is each other.

But this time they have to carry the memories of the ones they’re leaving behind.


	23. Ryusoul: Team (Focus Touwa and Banba)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The setting for this is that this is after previous chapter of Touwa and Banba sneaking off—basically, shit got attacked, and for whatever reason, the trio got to the fight late, and the bad guy was like ‘mwa ha ha ha ha ha we have already killed your friends’ sort of nonsense.  
> Anyway, the trio is exceptionally upset and pissed, but when the brothers turn up injured but alive…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (DISCLAIMER: This show hasn’t even come out yet. I’m just… Writing tiny snippets that come into my head. So I apologise it any of the characters turn out to be OOC at all)  
> Also sorry about the crappy summary I am very tired.

“Touwa! Banba!”

There was maybe a few parts of a second between their names being yelled and Kou crashing headlong into both of them, bowling them over, throwing both arms around both of them as best he could. Touwa yelped and Banba cursed quietly as the force of an overly excited RyusoulRed bumped and twisted their wounds—but it quickly changed to surprise as Kou proceeded to bury his face in the shoulders and started outright sobbing with relief.

The Asuna jumped in, landing practically on top of Touwa, already crying herself and joining the messy hug with far too much strength until Touwa had to repeatedly tap her arm to make her loosen her grip. By that time Melt had rushed over, kneeling down on their other side; he also reached out to hold onto them—but much more gently, hands on their shoulders—and even his eyes were tearing up.

“What is with you three?” Banba grumbled—even though the arm that hadn’t been leaning on his brother for support had snapped up on instinct to catch their teammate when Red had thrown himself at them, and as a result was floating loosely around Kou’s shoulders.

Touwa was trying to use his free arm to make sure Asuna didn’t squeeze them too tight again. “This is… A little extreme…!”

Finally, Kou pushed himself up a little, taking some of his weight off them. Tears were still running down his face, but he was smiling—possibly the biggest smile they’d ever seen on him. “We…” He stammered, “We thought…” The tears over flowed all over again. “We thought you guys were dead…!” The other two nodded immediately, both smiling and crying as well by that point from sheer joy. Kou’s hands tightened, grabbing fistfuls of their shirts. “We thought you were…” He trailed off into another sob, head dropping forward again to cry into their shoulders once more.

“Jerks.” Asuna accused, though the scolding part of her tone was tempered by sniffles. She moved back a bit too—in order to start smacking them like an unhappy cat. “Jerks, jerks, jerks, jerks, jerks! Why would you leave without telling us?” She tried to shake them, but with everyone in a jumble and weighing on them only really succeeded in jerking Touwa’s arm around a bit.

“We promised to stick together, didn’t we?” Melt’s voice broke, his fingers digging into their arms as well. He smirked a little. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

“Because we’re a team! We’re friends!” Asuna added empathically. “Did you really think we wouldn’t notice if you left?”

On top of them, Kou cameup for air, his shoulders shaking. “We missed you.”

There was a long silence.

“You…” Touwa finally mumbled. “… Missed… Us…?” All three nodded earnestly. The brothers exchanged a nervous glance. Then Touwa’s lip quivered.

With a small cry, he dove forward and hugged Kou back, knocking him over sideways and sending them both rolling on top of Banba and knocking him over when he tried to catch them. The flailing bowled both Asuna and Melt over as well, her scrambling back up to jump in as well, then reaching up and seizing Blue by the arm to pull him into the mess.

Eventually, after much flopping around, they managed to untangle, and the majority of the tears subsided. Melt slipped free, but only made it a little way across the grass before Asuna clambered after and tackled him again, putting him in a loose, playful headlock as she sat up, which settled into leaning on each other. With that weight clear, Banba managed to get enough leverage to sit up, though he still ended up with Touwa and Kou sprawled over his legs.

“… Don’t leave again.” Red said quietly, looking at the sky more than them.

Banba sighed deeply, his mouth twisting a little. “You don’t-”

But Kou sat up sharply to stare intensely at him. “Don’t leave again.” Even though Red’s expression was collected and calm, there was something in his eyes that made it seem like he could burst into tears all over again at the slightest push, so Banba just looked awkwardly away and set the issue aside.

He was spared having to think of anything else to say when something in the distance exploded. Touwa shot up as well at that, allowing his older brother to get to his feet. “Break time’s over.” The others found their way to their feet as well, looking toward where smoke rising from the horizon.

Kou took a deep breath, then turned to look back at them. “… Let’s go.” He said, then looked particularly at the brothers. “… **All** of us.”

And once again they belonged to someone.


	24. Ryusoul: Touwa (feat. Kou, Asuna, and Melt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also featuring Gaisorg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (DISCLAIMER: This show hasn’t even come out yet. I’m just… Writing tiny snippets that come into my head. So I apologise it any of the characters turn out to be OOC at all)

Green crashed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent and knock him out of his transformation at the same time a shard of lighting, followed almost instantaneously by a massive roar of thunder, ripped through the air. He landed hard beside the others, scrambling to push himself back up as rain began to pelt down from the clouded sky, icy water crashing down like it was also trying to push them to the ground. As if the weather itself was reacting to the situation.

With a sound like a disappointed huff, the armoured figure lowered its weapon, then turned, preparing to march away—then stopped.

A small hand was clinging to its ankle. “… Give him… Back…” The words were a cross between a whisper and a growl. “Give… Nii-san back…”

Gaisorg stared down at the boy for a moment—then turned just enough to kick him in the face, sending him sprawling across the ground roughly, banging his head and splitting his lip.

“Touwa!” Limping and scrambling, the other three made their way over. Melt and Asuna knelt beside Green while Kou moved between them and the armour, sword raised despite the way his leg was dragging—but his knuckles were white and his hand shaking. Touwa struggled to push himself up, staring with wide, frightened eyes, still too in shock to muster any other expression.

Kou tried to move to attack the armour but it sidestepped easily, the batted him away with the shield, sending Red crashing across the cement again. It took two steps forward, and Asuna jumped up, trying to get ahold of the arms or even the shoulders to shove it back—and did manage to make it slide back bit. But then Gaisorg just twisted around a little and slammed her in the stomach with the side of its sword, dislodging her hold and knocking her back to the ground. It didn’t even give Melt time to get up, swinging its other arm out to hit him with the shield as well, so hard that he landed flat on his back and was too stunned to move for a moment. Gaisorg didn’t give either of them another glance, merely hefting its sword up again above Touwa and swinging it down, this time with the bladed edge turned toward its target.

Touwa just winced and closed his eyes. Asuna screamed, Kou shouted something, and Melt still didn’t have his breath back. There was another burst of lightning and thunder practically in unison.

Then it stopped.

Slowly, Touwa cracked his eyes open and looked up. The sword was hovering hardly a hair’s breadth from his head, completely still, like it had met with some sort of invisible force. He stared at the blade for a moment, then, every so hesitantly, looked further up. Gaisorg’s helmet was still the same—blank, ominous. But something felt different.

“… Nii-san?” There was hope in the word—but not much.

The armour stayed frozen for another moment as they all stared. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, it moved the sword back, stumbling back a few steps before it got its balance back. The helmet stared down at the boy and the ground in front of it for a little longer, then turned and marched away into the rain and night. “Nii-san!” New desperation finally dragged Touwa to his feet, and he tried to race after the retreating armour.

But Kou had managed to get up as well, and lurched forward just in time to get his arms around Green’s waist, hugging the boy tightly against himself to stop him, trying to duck his head out of the way when Touwa kept struggling and calling for his brother. “Asuna!” Red shouted, and Pink rushed over to help restrain the boy, pinning his arms.

Eventually, though, Touwa’s will gave out, and he just collapsed back against Kou’s chest, finally breaking down into tears. Red shifted his arms to let the boy turn and sob into his shirt, just holding him close, leaning his cheek on the top of Touwa’s head. Asuna stepped back a little, but kept both hands on Green’s shoulders in an attempt at comfort. Melt made his way over, sneaking a hand out to gently rub the boy’s back. No one said anything because there was nothing they could say.

And so they stood, the only sounds the hammering of the rain and Touwa’s sobs.

Doing their best to hold him up in place of the one who usually did.


	25. Ryusoul: Banba (Feat. Kou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New challenge.  
> I'm going to try writing something, long or short, for Ryusoulger each day until it comes out. Might make the time go faster.  
> Of course, I am still working on It Is The Clock's Pendulum and everything else. Just hit a little bit of a speed bump w/ how to get to the next part w/ IITCP, and everything else is... Moving... Very... Slowly...

Kou is surprisingly light. Not as light as Touwa, maybe, but he’s lighter than he seems he should be.

What happened to Touwa after they lost sight of each other? He hopes he’s somewhere with Melt and Asuna and not lost on his own.

Then Kou whimpers unconsciously near his ear, a little, warm vibration against his back that reminds him of the one he’s carrying—who is so surprisingly light. Especially when he’s limp and bleeding, both arms hanging loosely, head barely balancing on his support’s shoulder.

He’d patched Red up as best he could. Another young boy pretending he wasn’t in pain—even as he steadily got paler, and clung weakly to his sleeve as he worked. Kou only has a few years on Touwa, and when he’s wounded and scared, it shows—and worse, it hurts the same way. Not even just while he’d been tending Red’s wounds, when there was a needling reminder in his head the whole way that the blood on his hands was Kou’s and that it was outside when it was supposed to be inside. No, it had been there when it had happened, too—when the hardwired instinct his subconscious dedicated to protecting his brother had also made him reach for Red the moment he realised the other Ryusoulger was in danger. It had been there after, too when Kou wobbled on his feet and he’d found himself catching the boy before he’d even started to fall. It’s here now, like a jab in his ribs every time he feels Red’s breathing weaken, or the way the boy’s cheek is cool against the side of his neck. The overbearing **need** to protect, the one etched deep into his bones, that he feels for Touwa seems to slowly be spreading to Kou, too.

And that was never supposed to happen.

Softness has never really been in his nature. The only gentleness he’s ever been capable of before was always for Touwa’s sake—his everything, the one part of his life deserving of such care. But here he is, carrying someone else, someone wounded, through a hostile environment—someone he’d warned just a few hours earlier in the day that he’d leave him behind if it suited him—without a second thought.

And if his protective instincts can reach Kou, then it’s possible they could reach the other two as well—or they already have, without his even realising. He’s not sure which scares him more.

When it was just Touwa, it was easier. He could watch him, keep him safe. But with all four of them… The chances of something happening are higher Something like this.

Then Kou groans again, and shifts against him. The boy’s in shock, and there’s only so much he can do in their current situation. He needs to get them somewhere safer, and soon—Red’s fading heartbeat a ticking clock against his back.

He can work out the details later. In this moment, his only priority is keeping Kou alive.

And damned what happens to him in the process.


	26. Ryusoul: Touwa (Feat. Kou and Asuna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And technically Melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day two. Ten days until the first episode.  
> I did research, but I'm not a medical professional, so don't try any of this at home. Please.  
> Also this was really short so I only did basic research. DX

They’ve all got some understanding of emergency field care. Comes with the training. But he can tell just by looking at their faces that they’ve never dealt with anything this big before; the only one who might know how to deal with this big an injury is Melt—and he’s the one lying on the ground with a massive hole ripped in his abdomen, and Kou and Asuna are both panicking. Because for all they know basic wound care, they’ve never seen something this bad before; or, at least, never had to be the ones caring for it.

So even though there’s some surprise on their faces when he steps in, pulling his over shirt off and pressing it over the wound to try and stem the blood flow, and especially when he starts giving orders for Asuna to get water and start a fire, and for Kou to get a blanket, something they can use as bandages, and the little bag he carries with the rest of his things, there’s also relief. They both focus completely on the tasks he’s asked of them, not wasting time dithering or questioning him, asking why he knows what to do.

He doesn’t waste time trying to tell them, either. Doesn’t try to tell them about the time his brother took a spear to the chest for his sake, cutting a hole through him far too close to his heart. He doesn’t say anything how the only help he could find quickly enough was an elderly woman whose mind was still sharp but was going blind and suffered from arthritis that meant she couldn’t do the work herself, so she had to give him instructions. He doesn’t want to remember what it was like to have his brother’s blood on his hands almost to the elbows, to feel warmth leaving his body with every passing moment. Doesn’t want to remember the icy clench in his chest when he described the damage and the old woman told him in sympathetic tones that the odds were worse than bad.

Kou has the bag and the water’s warm. He doesn’t want to risk taking the pressure off Melt’s injury just yet, so carefully talks the two through finding the salt in his bag and dissolving it to preparing the cloths to clean it with. He tries to pretend he’s not managing to keep his calm solely because it keeps his mind from wondering what happened to his brother after Gaisorg separated them. Whether or not he’s injured, too, but on his own this time, without… He’s spared from the rest of the by Asuna holding out a wet cloth at his shoulder. He get Kou to take over putting pressure and sets about cleaning. They both vary between watching his face and watching his hands, and still neither says anything and he’s grateful for it. Mercifully, they still don’t ask why. So he still doesn’t tell them.

He doesn’t tell them how many nights he sat up holding his brother’s hand because he was so terrified that if he fell asleep he’d wake up next to a corpse. He doesn’t explain how on the fifth day, the old woman passed away after telling him they’d done all they could and giving him her medical bag, and he’d buried her as best he was able with a poor marker. He doesn’t recount about the awful sounds his brother’s lungs made when he couldn’t get enough air. He doesn’t want to relive the way it felt his own heart had stopped the evening he genuinely thought he’d lost his only family forever.

He doesn’t tell them just how long he spent crying when his brother finally opened his eyes. He doesn’t say what it was like to finally have him back, to be able to put his arms around him again. He doesn’t reveal how his brother still has the ghost of a scar from that incident, a pale mark the size of his palm right next to his heart. He doesn’t mention that sometimes, when he finds his older brother asleep, he’ll sneak up and press his ear to his chest just to hear his heart.

He doesn’t tell them how he made sure to remember what the old woman had taught him, just in case.

He doesn’t know if it’s because they can guess it’s a long and painful story, or if they just have other things to think about. Maybe it’s both. But they don’t ask him why.

So he doesn’t tell them.


	27. Ryusoul: Kou and Melt (Feat. Asuna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Touwa and Banba.  
> ('Featuring' Asuna because she's unconscious the whole time)  
> Part 1 of 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little two-parter between this and the next chapter/tidbit to celebrate the ending of Strongest Battle, I suppose. XD  
> I dunno. I'm going to bed.

Kou can hardly see his teammates in the darkness and dust. Melt is the only one of the two who’s upright—because when the earth caved in around them, Asuna kept them from being crushed by the massive sheaf of rock bearing down on their heads by wedging herself between it and the bedrock below them. After she’d stopped it from flattening them, she’d been able to push it a little higher via a forceful shove with her shoulders before the strain of stopping and lifting immeasurable tons of rock finally got to her and she collapsed. And it was just him and Melt trapped in a tiny pocket surrounded by solid rock. Melt’s arm is plastered against his, and Asuna lying on the ground crowds both their legs. There’s hardly enough space for two people, let alone three.

How long has it been since it started getting hard to breathe?

It’s definitely getting warmer, and they’re getting inexplicably tired. Melt’s head has practically dropped all the way onto his shoulder, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“… How’s Asuna?” He barely hisses the question, trying to use as little breath as possible.

“… At this rate… She’ll outlive us…” Melt murmurs back just as faintly. “… She’s using less oxygen…” Blue’s eyes fluttered again. “… Not that it’ll matter…”

Kou fumbles until he finds purchase on hand, close by with their shoulders shoved together. “… It’s okay…” He tries to say, but the words kind of slur together, so it comes out more like ‘isoay.’“… They’ll come…” The second part sounds more like ‘thelom.’

Apparently, though, Melt understands. “… You’re putting… Too much faith… In those two…” He doesn’t know if Melt isn’t as tired, or just better at staying in control, but Blue’s words aren’t slurred quite as much as his.

He can’t muster the strength to speak back, so he just weakly squeezes Melt’s hand as tightly as he can—which isn’t much. Maybe Blue is right. He likes to think Touwa has gotten at least a little fond of them, but it’s impossible to tell with Banba. In fact, it’s so impossible to tell anything with Banba, he’s been starting to wonder if he should ask Touwa to translate for him. But as to whether both or either of the brothers will come help them rather than defeat the Minosaur… He wants to think they would, but the part of him that can be logical reminds him that he doesn’t know them quite as well as he knows Melt and Asuna. And what he does know… Banba’s honourable and an excellent fighter, but also won’t let anything get in the way of his goal and it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. Touwa seems more open and friendly, but follows his brother everywhere, and Kou doubts he’ll show if Banba decides against it.

So maybe he is putting blind faith, putting their lives, in the hands of two people he hardly knows, who may or may not care enough to abandon a fight to come save them.

But as his vision starts getting fuzzy, and he feels Melt’s head bump against his shoulder, it seems like blind faith is all they’ve got.

And he’ll just have to hope the time they’ve had will mean enough to Black and Green.


	28. Ryusoul: Team (Focus Kou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little messy. But we're not doing this for quality, we're doing this for **FUN**.

Time passes.

Kou isn’t sure how much time, but it’s definitely time. Melt is unresponsive beside him, and his awareness is almost completely gone as well. Feels like there’s cotton in his lungs and he can’t keep his eyes open. There’s nothing but darkness and silence.

He’s never been one to give up on anything, always staying optimistic as best he can. But even he can’t stop the dark, creeping thought, the only cold thing in the tiny, sealed enclave; _They didn’t come_.

The darkness persists.

But then light pierces his vision.

For a moment or so he’s blinded for a different reason, everything turning completely white—then air comes rushing in like a kick in the ribs and for another few moments all his brain can focus on is how good it feels to have oxygen again and how it needs more. Melt stirs next to him. He thinks he hears Asuna groan.

There’s a flash of colour in his slowly returning vision. Motion, something appearing through the circle of sunlight now beaming down above them. Something shifts, and there’s more space at their legs—he squints up to see what seems to be someone—or multiple someones—gently pulling Asuna out of the hole. He can see her pink, and… Green?

He loses them in the light, but soon Melt’s weight moves off him, and at the same time he feels a hand on his arm, then one on the other, pulling him upward and out of the darkness. He find his legs a little on the way out, but grabs onto the arms holding him for support. On the very edge of the hole, he stumbles and his knees give out—but when he falls forward it’s into someone’s chest, someone who feels strong and solid and safe. So he just leans into them, gasping for air.

“It was really hard to find you guys.” Chirps a voice somewhere behind him. He twists around, squinting through the light to see who it is—a smudge of green that morphs into a familiar, thin, teenager with a cat smile. “Took us ages to even figure out the general area.” Touwa pauses, smile faltering into uncertainty for a moment, but then adds, “So… Sorry about the wait.”

“… Thought you said you’d leave us.” The weak, wheezy voice is hardly identifiable as Melt’s—but there’s still an edge of accusation in the tone.

“… I said if you stop being useful.” A rumbling against his shoulder, the familiarity of the voice, and simply looking up reveals to Kou that he’s leaning on Banba, who’s holding him up loosely like he’s slightly unsure of how to react the way Red is clinging to him—but despite the emotional hesitation, the hands on his shoulders feel reliable and sound. “You’re still useful.” The tone is gruff, but the way Banba is deliberately looking away from them, and how Touwa chuckles at the words makes Kou suspect there’s more to it—something that feels like a weight off his back just as much as being able to breathe again.

Finally, he finds his own voice. “… The Minosaur?”

The brothers exchange a look. “… It got away.” Banba mutters, voice vibrating against Kou’s shoulder again.

“You let it go… To help us?” He supposes the implications are obvious, but he still wants to ask, even if they don’t answer.

Touwa shrugs. “It’s pretty big.” His tone is casual, like it’s no big deal they forwent the thing they’ve been fighting for for months for the sake of three people they’re just starting to trust. “It shouldn’t be too hard for us to find it again.” Banba’s expression is blank, but he’s not snapping at them for getting in his way, or pushing Kou off, and that’s just as comforting.

Then it occurs to him Touwa just used ‘us’ to refer to all of them.

And it’s like everything has clicked into place. Touwa is crouched by Asuna and Melt, beaming warmly, a hand on Blue’s shoulder, occasionally checking on Pink. Banba is holding Kou up like an unshakeable pillar, looking around them with a slight glare like he still expects Druidon to pop out of the rock. For the first time, the brothers feel closer, more central to their unit than they have before. For the first time, they’re all part of an ‘us’ rather than having a ‘them.’ For the first time, even the largest of differences between them don’t seem to matter.

For the first time, they feel like a team.


	29. Ryusoul: Banba (Feat. Kou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And also Gaisorg.  
> Mentions of the others.  
> Part 1 of 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Ryusoul two parter!  
> I'd like to apologise for the delay on my Zi-O stuff. I just haven't felt like I've really been in a place to watch/think about Zi-O for the moment, especially with how I feel about certain narrative choices that are being made. I'll get back to it eventually, I promise.

“Wait.” The word was little more than a gasp, but Gaisorg still froze, helmet turning slightly. When it continued to hold till, he hauled himself up, wincing slightly, but pushing his joints to move. If this was going to work, he couldn’t show any weakness whatsoever. “… You want a body, right?” It had Kou by the scruff of his jacket, and the boy wasn’t fighting back at all, despite the sword blade hovering too close for comfort to his throat—but when he asked that, Red’s head twitched upward, his eyes widening slightly. Internally, he noted where the others were—Melt wasn’t far from Kou; Asuna a few paces to his left; Touwa was a little behind him and to the right. All four of them just too far away for him to make it in time. The armour turned slightly, dragging the boy slightly across the ground. “Right?” The helmet tilted a little—almost like the armour was nodding. He took a deep breath, one that ached his ribs, but gritted his teeth to keep impassive. “… Then use me.”

“No!” His words seemed to have given Kou new energy, because the shout was accompanied by frantic struggling, Red clawing at the metal hand holding his jacket and kicking wildly. Gaisorg showed absolutely no care for the panicked scrambling, instead staring straight ahead. “Don’t!” But even though he was fighting, the boy was not only making no headway against the sentient armour, he was clearly just weakening himself and worsening his wounds.

Ignoring Kou like he so often did, he stayed focused on Gaisorg. “Use me.” He growled. “Let them go.” The armour turned sharply toward him. “How many people could stand after a hit like that?” He snapped, cutting it off before it could speak. He very pointedly did not lookat Red, who was trying to make eye contact with him, shaking his head. It didn’t matter what he thought. Nothing mattered but getting Gaisorg as far away from them as possible. And he could think of only one way to do that. Doing his best to stay focused, he forced himself to move, taking a few steps closer, still trying to tune out Red’s shouting and begging for him to stop. “I’m what you’re looking for. Let them go.” He continued staring the armour down, refusing to falter in the slightest.

Neither of them moved for a long time, the only sounds that of Kou’s resistance.

Then Gaisorg tossed Red to the side, dropping him unceremoniously on the ground. Scrambling as quickly as he could, the boy floundered halfway to his feet, stumbling over to grab his arm, pleading in his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do this.” He knew if he looked down into Kou’s face, at the desperation of a boy hardly older than his brother that he’s started to think of in the same way, he’d break. But Red was already wobbling on his feet, and all it took was a single, well-placed strike to the least injured spot on him to dislodge his hold.

He leaned forward a little to catch the boy gingerly when he began to fall. “… Take care of Touwa.” He murmured. “… I’m sorry.” He carefully lowered Kou to the ground so that he didn’t hurt himself again. Then he took another step toward Gaisorg. “… Do it.”

The armour stared at him for a moment longer, then began to glow. It separated into pieces that flew through air and swirled around him, the purple light consuming his vision. He thought he saw whoever it had been using collapse, but soon thoughts and memories that weren’t his were forcing their way into his mind, pushing him to the side.

As the armour entity finished forming, the last thing he heard was Kou weakly gasping his name.

Then nothing.


	30. Ryusoul: Kou (Feat. Melt and Asuna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Gaisorg. And an unconscious Touwa.  
> Part 2 of 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this so much longer?  
> I don't know.  
> Bed.

Still clutching his stomach, Kou reached blindly for Banba’s hand—only to find cold metal. Slowly, painstakingly, he raised his head—knowing full well what he’d see but trying to cling to a faint hope that he was wrong.

He wasn’t. Gaisorg’s helmet stared back down at him, the visor blank and dark.

“… No. No no no no no no…” Despite the sharp edges and the way his fingers slipped, he tried to grab hold of the arm, drag himself back up, yanking on it like he could pull it off Black bare-handed. “No… Please…!” But the armoured arm swung out, striking him hard in the stomach and knocking him flat on his back. Wincing, he rolled over, trying to get back up—only to find Gaisorg towering over him. The armour raised an arm to strike again—then froze. It hesitated for another moment, then lowered the hand, stepping back.

“… Kou?” Melt’s voice, confused and weak, called his name; in the corner of his eye, he saw Blue making his way to his feet, just over Gaisorg’s shoulder. Seeing the armour apparently cornering him, the other Ryusoulger immediately went for his sword.

“No! Don’t!” His shout startled Blue, and made Gaisorg look sharply over its shoulder (no, not ‘ **its** ’ shoulder—he wasn’t going to give the armour even a minute shred of ownership over Banba). It gave him enough time to scramble back up, rushing over to get between his teammate and Gaisorg, throwing out a hand to dissuade Melt even more. “Don’t!”

Melt stared at him, but didn’t move to attack. Kou tried to say more, but then his balance failed him, and he fell forward. Fortunately, Blue took the two steps necessary to catch him, though the added weight nearly brought him back to the ground as well. “Kou!?”

He raised his arm, fingers latching tightly onto the fabric of Melt’s shirt. “… Don’t hurt him.” He managed, his voice breathless in distress. “… It’s Banba.” He practically choked on the words, but had to say them. “It’s Banba.”

Melt’s eyes widened in horror, gazing first at him, then the armour—standing stock still, looking blankly at them. The alarm only grew as his eyes lighted on the collapsed civilian nearby, where one hadn’t been before. “No…”

There was an awful sound of metal when Gaisorg moved, helmet suddenly turning toward a sound. Kou followed the look to see that Asuna was also regaining consciousness, fumbling her way upward and holding her head. The armour watched her for a moment, then turned a little further. That time, Kou didn’t need to check to see what it was focusing on—Touwa was still unconscious, but very visible, on Asuna’s other side. Pink noticed too, and, without waiting to even get her bearings back, she stumbled her way over to Green’s side, throwing herself over him and shielding him from Gaisorg’s view with her back. The armour didn’t move for another moment.

_Let them go_.

With more metal creaking, Gaisorg turned and walked deliberately away without a single glance backwards. Kou tried to go after it, but Melt held him back—when his legs gave out, all he could do was sink to the ground, hands scraping on the cement as they balled into fists. Blue fell to his knees beside him, taking deep, shaking breaths. Slowly, Asuna sat up, watching them in bewilderment, then looking nervously around. When neither of them offered any explanations, she set about seeing to Touwa. Eventually, Blue came to his senses, and made his way over to the armour’s previous wearer, kneeling down to check on the man. Kou stayed where he was, glaring tearfully at the ground.

“Touwa’s not waking up.” Asuna’s voice cut through their distress. “He… He’s not… I think he hit his head. I can’t tell how bad it is.” Kou snapped his head around to look, then worked to drag himself over to her side while Blue got the civilian up and helped him toward safety.

Touwa looked unbearably small. Maybe his energy made him seem larger, so when he was lying on the ground unconscious, it made it seem like he’d shrunk. Or maybe it was just Kou’s perception and guilty conscience, having allowed the loss of the foundation that had always supported him. Whatever it was, Green looked his age—younger, even—especially beaten and bloodied with a cut on his head; which was what was most distressing. There was a great deal of blood, but the wound didn’t seem to be too deep. Still, it was probably a good idea to at least have someone else check it out. Still, he pulled off his jacket, folded it up, and pressed it against the injury, hoping to stem the blood flow.

Then the brief moment of silence was broken. “… Where’s Banba?” Asuna’s voice was quiet and curious—reminding him that she was innocent of the knowledge of what had happened to Black.

He lost his voice for a bit, trying to think of how to say it—until, finally, “… Gaisorg took him.”

“… What?” The fright in her tone indicated that it was less that she hadn’t understood, and more that she wanted him to deny it, say he was lying.

He wished he could. “Gaisorg took him. He… He let it take him to protect us.” He closed his eyes against the memory of dark purple light on the fringes of his vision while he vainly called out the name of someone he’d never thought he’d care for, and yet he did. “I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it. He’s gone and it’s my fault.” She was quiet for a while—then, slowly, gently, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be arrogant.” They both looked up to see that Melt had come over. “We all failed to defeat Gaisorg.” But there was an extra layer of grimness to his expression that was even more terrifying.

“Melt? What’s wrong?” Asuna asked, when Kou couldn’t.

“That man saw flashes of Gaisorg ‘mind’ while he was possessed. Seems he learned…Something.” The dread was only growing heavier in Blue’s voice and features. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Once Gaisorg attaches to a host, it can’t be removed unless it chooses to—which doesn’t seem likely to happen—or…” He very deliberately wasn’t looking at them. “… Or the host dies.”

They both stared at him.

Kou barely kept the presence of mind to let Asuna take over holding the jacket to Touwa’s head before he shot upward, lurching over to grab Blue by the collar with both hands, shaking him. “No! That’s not true! That can’t be true! That can’t be…!” He gave Melt one more strong shake before he slumped forward into his shoulder. The weight displacement made Blue stagger, but he reached up and put his arms around Kou when Red broke down into sobs. “That… That can’t be…”

Melt squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to be the calm one. “… I… I’m sorry…” He whispered, rubbing his friend’s back. “… I’m sorry.” Slowly, the crying began to soften—not toward stopping, but continuing more quietly.

“What do we…” Asuna’s voice broke the new quiet. She was sitting with Touwa’s head cradled in her hands, still pressing Kou’s jacket to his head wound, staring up at them with abject horror. “… What… What do we tell him?” She began, voice cracking, her hands tightening on the teenager’s shoulders, “… What do we tell Touwa?” Melt’s expression turned like he was going to be sick, and Kou’s heart skipped.

Neither of them had an answer.


	31. Ryusoul: Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plus Ui!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started to lose this near the end but I am tired and must rise early in the morn.  
> ...  
> ......  
> .........  
> See? This is what happens when I'm tired.

Nothing.

Kou’s palms were pressed to Banba’s chest, but he couldn’t feel even a heartbeat—not even the weak, fading one that had been their poor reassurance that they still had a chance to save the two. Next to him, Asuna was similarly frozen by Touwa’s bedside, and he knew she wasn’t feeling any pulse or breath either. The ghost of life that the brothers’ subconsciousness determination had been clinging to, that had kept their bodies alive, despite the loss of their souls, had faded away.

It was too late. They were too late.

Sinking to the floor, he found Black’s hand, wrapping both of his tightly around it and squeezing—like he could make Black wake up just to punch him for it. But the hand was cold and still in his, warmth having faded with all the other signs of life. Even colder than when he’d held it just hours ago, before they’d left. Back when they’d still thought they could make it in time.

“But… But we… We promised…” Asuna whimpered faintly, then slumped forward, her arm and head dropping onto Touwa’s chest, and began sobbing into her elbow. Melt backed into the corner in shock, leaning on the wall like it was the only think holding him up. Ui curled up in a ball by the door and started weeping loudly into her knees. Kou pressed Banba’s hand to his forehead, tears finally overtaking him as well.

Did a promise matter to those who couldn’t hear it? Perhaps not. But even though the vow had fallen on deaf ears, the meaning and the pain of failure were still the same. They’d sworn that they would recover the brothers’ souls and return them in time—but they’d only managed the first half. How were they supposed to protect or save the world when they couldn’t even save the people most important to them? First their home and their Masters, now Touwa and Banba—and the latter was even harsher, because Green and Black had done it to protect them.

When had the brothers become such a huge part of their lives that it felt like they’d always been there? Why did they have to lose them to notice it?

There was a soft thud in the corner as Melt finally slid to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. Asuna continued to cry into Touwa’s chest, sobs muffled by her arm. Kou kept clutching Banba’s hand and holding it to his face. Ui hadn’t moved at all.

The only sound was that of overbearing grief.

“… As… Asuna…?”

Faint as it was, they all heard it. Asuna’s head snapped up and around, Kou practically fell over turning to look, Melt crawled part way over, and even Ui looked up.

Touwa’s eyes were open slightly.

He stared blearily at them, squinting a little, then, “… Your… Arm… Is heavy.”

Asuna turned pink, and quickly moved back from where she had been practically leaning on him, shooting glares at the other two when they couldn’t resist chuckling. “… Sorry!” She mumbled.

Touwa shook his head weakly, starting to look more aware. He shivered a little, frowning. “… It’s kinda… Cold.” Before anyone else could move, Ui was scrambling to her feet and fetching another blanket, while Asuna helped Green sit up. Ui returned quickly, but Green’s colour was already returning, even before they wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and the way his shivering subsided slowly meant he was warming up, too.

Kou sat and just watched for a moment—until something moved in his hands and batted him in the face.

“Let… Go… Of my hand.” Growled a familiar voice, though he’d never heard it sound that tired before. He turned quickly back to find he was the subject of one of Banba’s usual glares—a slightly unfocused and weary one, but one all the same. For a moment he couldn’t move for shock, until the glare strengthened slightly. He immediately released Black’s hand from the vice-grip he’d had it in, then waited for the rest of the shock to wear off as Banba made sure his hand still worked and tried to sit up, muttering about Kou being an emotional oaf.

In the end, he didn’t make it very far upward—because feeling finally returned to Red, and with and elated squawk he dove forward and threw his arms around Black’s shoulders, knocking him back over and bursting into tears all over again—though for a very different reason. Banba cursed quietly, but didn’t throw him off, even patting him a little awkwardly on the back when the crying got even more dramatic. Somewhere else in the room, someone—probably Asuna—was also crying, and Kou could faintly hear Melt’s voice in the background.

But what was more important was the strength and volume when Touwa started laughing at something—Ui, most likely—and the way Banba was returning to a normal body temperature in his arms—slowly, but surely, and definitely better than how deathly cold he had been before.

“… Never do that again.” He mumbled into Black’s shoulder, holding tighter. “Never, **ever** do that again. Promise.”

He felt, more than heard, Banba’s sigh. “… Over-emotional buffoon.” Rumbled the voice near his ear.

“I don’t care. **Promise**.” Everything else was quiet, suddenly. He felt Black’s head turn slightly away, towards the other side of the room—the brothers exchanging a look.

After a long moment, Banba’s hand came down on his back again, resting there, more deliberately than before. “… We promise.” Banba said at last, more gently than was his usual wont. “We… We promise.” Another, smaller hand found Kou’s shoulder and squeezed it.

Then moment was then promptly shattered by Asuna practically jumping on top of Kou. The resulting mess caught Touwa’s arm, and he was dragged off his bed to the floor—just in time for Melt, trying to pull Asuna off, to also get pulled down and land on top of him. They all ended up in a scrambled pile while Ui just watched the spectacle, too busy laughing and crying all at the same time.

“Ugh… Damnit… Why do I always end up at the bottom of these?” Banba grumbled, trying to get in a position that was easier to breathe with half his team lying on him.

“Oh, come on!” Touwa complained, though there was also and edge of laughter to his voice, while he tried to get out from under Melt and part of Asuna. “Is this anyway to treat people who were dead a moment ago?”

“Yes!” Pink declared. “This is payback for scaring us!”

Melt yelped when she accidentally kneed him in the stomach. “Doesn’t help if you crush the rest of us, too!”

“Asuna!” Kou squeaked. “I can’t breathe! Ui, get her off!” But Ui was still doubled over with laughter.

“Hrrgh! Fine.” Bracing himself on the sides of the bed, Banba forced his way into sitting up, managing to deposit both Kou and Asuna on the ground as well, just missing the other two. “There.” He flopped back down with a sigh while the other four tried to get untangled, laughing through most of it. Eventually, Asuna throw Kou off her, practically the length of the room, and got up herself, which gave Melt and Touwa space to free themselves, and they all settled into their own spots. After that, it wasn’t long before the usual chatter returned, and by the time Ui’s father reappeared, there was nothing to indicate the terrifying event had even taken place.

But, for a while afterwards, one of the three would periodically check to see that both the brothers were still there.

Just in case.


	32. Zi-O: Geiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to just about everyone. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I finally felt well enough to think about Zi-O again. And now I feel a little better about some stuff. I’m still not a huge fan of arcs where the protagonists fight each other, but that’s just a general preference. Like, I don’t like it when William Shakespeare does it, and I’m a die-hard Shakespeare geek, it’s just a plot choice I’m not a huge fan of. Which is a little odd, considering how much of an angst bird I am…  
> Which brings me to this. I started this tidbit bc when I have overly emotional reactions to stuff, sometimes I can reason it out and solve it by writing. It took a little more than that this time (I blame being sick and no sleep), but after a couple days of calming and consideration, I feel better.  
> And I finished it.

He’s been angry before. In fact, he’s usually angry.

He’s never been **this** angry. Especially not at so many people.

There’s Ouma Zi-O, for causing all of this. Kuro Woz for constantly getting in the way. Shiro Woz, too, for even making this an option, pushing them so far. Another Zi-O for being a product, a reminder of the damage he caused. Zi-O himself, for making everything so much harder and complicated than it ever should have been. Even her, just a little, for going that far.

He’s ashamed at some of the anger, directed against his will at people who don’t really deserve it—well, some of them don’t.

But most of all?

He’s angry at **himself**.

He should have just taken the hit and pulled the trigger. If he had done that, things might have been different.

But he didn’t. And now it’s too late. He failed, and now this is where they are. He’s the only one left. All he can do now is take the one alternative available. The only one they know works. And then perhaps all those people who died will live.

No matter how he looks at it, one person’s life isn’t worth this.

Not even a… Friend’s.

He should have just accepted the burden from the start. He’s the soldier. If one of them truly has to do this, has to carry this crime, it should be him. No one else.

If he finishes it now, what will the future be? He’d never imagined how completing the mission might actually effect time. If Ouma Zi-O never exists, then things will go differently. Neither he nor she will ever go back in time—and without them the bus will never explode.

Maybe there will another her, come the new 2068. One who’s born into a peaceful world, where she never sees her father or her comrades die fighting an impossible opponent. Maybe…

Maybe there will be a new Sougo. One who grows up with his parents, and never has a dream that tells him he needs to be a king.

That’s the most comfort he can afford himself.

He pushed her to her death. His only choice is to kill Sougo.

But maybe the new versions can live better, fuller lives in the future this will create.

Even though they won’t be the ones he knew, not anymore. And they won’t know him.

Maybe there will be a new him, too. One whose father is never made hard-hearted by the world’s destruction. Who never has to be a soldier. Who never sees death. Who never loses his best friend. Who never has to kill someone he cares about.

Maybe they’ll even find each other again, somehow, some way.

It will a future where he has no place. Where he’s nothing but an angry, guilty ghost. Shiro Woz can gild it all he likes—there will nothing for him in that timeline, and no one. No past, present, or future.

Nothing but regrets he alone can recall.

But what are his options?

Fight and win. Or fight and die.

Or… Both.

**Or both**.


	33. Ryusoul: Kou, Asuna, Melt, and Touwa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Banba, Ui, and her father.

There was a long silence.

“… Tatsui-san,” Touwa said, finally, “Is going to kill us.”

The others exchanged glances.

“… Can’t we tell Ui?” Asuna asked hesitantly.

“Ui won’t be back until tonight.” Melt told her flatly, then folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. “What were you three even **doing** to cause **this**?”

“It’s a long story.” Kou said, then looked at Touwa. “What about your brother?”

“Nii-san will **also** kill us.”

“Even if you tell him?” Asuna wanted to know.

Touwa nodded. “He once made me help repair a roof after I fell through it during a fight.” They all stared at him for a moment. He shrugged. “He’s got… Standards.”

“So… Basically…” Asuna concluded slowly, “… We’re dead.”

“Maybe we can clean it up?” Kou offered, then looked at her. “You can lift it, right?” Her head snapped around to glare at him, and she reached out and grabbed his ear. “Ow! Ow! I’m sorry, okay?” She tried to shove his head away, but accidentally did it with too much force, sending him careening into the mess they’d already created, disrupting everything even more.

There was a shocked silence.

“… Well.” Melt said, finally, while Kou slowly stumbled to his feet—causing a little more destruction on the way. “I wash my hands of this. You’re on your own.” Scooping up his book from where it had miraculously avoided the chaos, he walked briskly from the room.

They watched him go, then all looked at each other again.

“… Let’s… Never speak of this again.” Touwa decided.

The other two nodded in agreement.

Kou stepped back to stand beside them, looking back and forth between them. “Pretend we never saw it?”

“Not a bit.” Asuna agreed cheerily.

“Right…” Kou nodded slowly, surveying the room one last time. “… Right.” He turned to face them. “Let’s get out of here.”

As one, all three of them bolted out the door.


	34. Ryusoul: Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We were gonna switch up eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little thing.  
> We're almost there.  
> We're also almost over ten thousand words for a show that ain't even out yet.  
> I need to find a new job... DX

Banba didn’t scream. Such a large display of emotion was probably somehow hardwired out of his nature. He did shout Touwa’s name, flashing across the space between them faster than would normally be humanly possible, falling to his knees beside his little brother before the other three had even started to get up. Pulling Green into his arms, he cupped the boy’s face in his hand, desperately trying to rouse him. He had more of an expression than any of them had ever seen on him before—genuinely terrified and distressed, hands shaking as he stroked his brother’s face, whispering his name, quietly begging him to wake up. Touwa didn’t stir—just lay in his brother’s arms, small and abnormally pale, bleeding too much and far too still. When he couldn’t get a response, Banba just hugged him to his chest, pressing his face into the boy’s hair, rocking slowly back and forth.

Slowly, the other three made their way over. Asuna almost reached for his shoulder, but Melt caught her hand part way there, shaking his head. Banba was reclusive most of the time already—a situation like this probably wasn’t the moment to be pushing his boundaries. Kou stumbled a few more steps forward to at least stand closer, just for the sake of doing something. None of them could think of anything to say—everything that came to mind seemed useless and ineffective, or could make the situation worse. Even Asuna was stunned into silence, merely hovering and blinking back tears, while Melt kept patting her arm absently, his own expression drawn and dark. Kou stayed where he was, just staring at Banba’s back as if he could somehow impart comfort to him through his gaze.

In his heart, though, he knew. This was not something that could be made better.


	35. Ryusoul: Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reference to Ui and her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is ridiculously cheesy and I hope cute.  
> I just like the idea of Banba being so dedicated to being the 'strong big brother' that he sometimes pushes himself too much, and tries to hide any exhaustion or anything that might be him 'faltering.'

Kou very nearly walked right into Touwa when Green froze in the doorway—behind him Melt and Asuna did crash into his back, just barely managing to stay upright. All three of them looked at Touwa questioningly—he just slowly pointed into the room, motioning for them to be quiet.

Banba was sitting up on the sofa, arms folded like they usually were—but he was slumped forward slightly, head down, his breathing deep and even. Asleep.

“… Does he just go until he shuts down or something?” Asuna asked as they all shifted around to peer through the doorway.

“Only when he thinks I can’t see him.” Touwa replied quietly. “He doesn’t… He doesn’t believe in showing anything that might be considered weakness.”

“What’s weak about needing sleep?” Pink wondered.

“Foundations don’t like to be seen to crumble.” They all gave Melt weird looks.

“You sound like the Elder.” Asuna accused. Blue gave her an affronted stare while she just shrugged.

“Regardless,” Kou interrupted, straightening up, “He’s gonna hurt himself or catch a cold if he stays like that.”

They tiptoed into the room carefully. Kou found the pillow, but they let Touwa arrange and move his brother’s head so that it was supported, just in case they did get caught. Melt did step in to assist when Asuna retrieved a blanket, but because he and Green were the most precise out of all of them, they were able to do it without disturbing Black at all.

Finally, they stepped back. “That’s about all we can do.” Melt said, folding his own arms. “That and let him sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kou agreed, casually slinging an arm around Touwa’s shoulders without thinking—but Touwa didn’t immediately push him off, either.“Come on, Ui or her father might have something for us to do.” He clapped Green gently on the shoulder once, then headed for the door; the other two soon followed.

Touwa stayed behind for a bit, watching his brother sleep. Then he slipped closer again, sitting gently on the sofa beside Banba and leaning into his chest for a moment—listening to his heart, just for the sake of it. The beat was as steady and resilient as it always was, like a bass drum line against his ear—the most calming and reassuring sound in the world to him.

Banba didn’t stop being his pillar just because he was asleep. He supposed he really should tell him that—then maybe he wouldn’t push himself so far.

Eventually he pulled away from his brother’s chest, pausing only to make sure the blanket was properly tucked around him and wouldn’t fall off. Banba was a very still sleeper (which had frightened him a fair share of times before he’d trained himself how to identify the motions of his brother’s breathing), but it was better to be sure. Once that was done, he gave him one last fond smile before departing as well.

His brother deserved to have some rest, for once in his life.


	36. Ryusoul: Banba (feat. Team and Ui)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team means Kou, Touwa, Melt, and Asuna. I got lazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one.  
> Just barely made it before the premier!  
> Final word count for a show that hasn't come out yet?  
> 11,123  
> ... I need a new hobby.

They all react to pain differently, he’s figured that out. Asuna, for all she’ll chatter normally, is the determined and tough type, bearing any injury like she carries everything else. Melt is calm and sensible about it, overthinking his way into complicated denial of the extent of any wound. Kou and Touwa are the most similar—both of them try to pretend they’re not hurt at all, not weathering it like Asuna or convincing themselves of it like Melt, but trying to act that way to others. The only difference is that Touwa’s gotten good at it.

Even when they’re unconscious, it shows. Asuna’s breathing is a little shallower, but she’s sleeping mostly peacefully. Melt’s eyebrows are furrowed like he’s still concentrating, and the only other sign is that every now and then he whimpers unconsciously. Of the other two, Touwa’s the one still almost maintaining the charade, even now; he winces in his sleep whenever he moves, and his breaths are only slightly laboured—Kou, on the other hand, is clearly suffering, now that he’s not awake to focus on hiding it; he’s in a cold sweat, breathing in shallow starts and making small, pitiful sounds every so often.

And here he is, sitting up at the edge of Touwa’s bed—like his presence is going to help them at all. Each time one of them makes another agonised sound, it’s like a knife in his side, jabbing against his heart and ribs. There are so many things he should have done to prevent this. Ui had said nothing, expression blank, when he’d brought them back. Outside of being impressed he’d gotten them all back alone, she’d merely hurried to fetch medical supplies. No blame, but also no questions—and no pity. For that, he’s grateful. The woman is nonsensical and overexcitable, sometimes unbearably cheerful—but she knows enough to see that sympathy, however well-meaning, is the last thing he needs right now.

He’s not entirely sure how he did it either, but it’s no miracle he was able to get them all back. It’s not them that’s heavy.

The the door bursts open, and there’s Ui, panting like she’s just sprinted up a mountain. “It’s back!” The words are sandwiched between gasps, but he hears them and his heart stops. She leans on her knees for a few moments to catch her breath before continuing in the same frantic tones. “It’s back, the monster’s back!” She follows his gaze when he glances back over the rest of the team, all clearly too injured to fight. But if they wake up, he knows they’ll try to go.

She leaps back a bit when he stands quickly, fingering the Changer on his wrist. Taking one last look at the others, he turns back to her. “Not a word to them.” The words come out colder and as more of a growl than he intends, but maybe if he frightens her she’ll listen—not that Ui has ever seemed easy to frighten.

Instead, she stares at him as he sweeps past her. “You’re going alone? But-” Her voice stops when he throws up a hand.

Once he’s convinced she’ll stay quiet, he lowers it slowly, giving her a hard look. “Not. A. Word.” Each syllable is a snarl—but once he gets that out, his will falters, and his gaze moves to the corner rather than her. “… Look after them.”

He’s gone before she can say anything else.


	37. Ryusoul: Kou (feat Banba)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring because he spends the entire tidbit unconscious.

It felt wrong.

When Master Red died, even though he knew Melto and Asuna would be grieved, he knew his heart was the only one that would be so completely destroyed. For them, those feelings were reserved for their own Masters.

But this… This felt like he was holding everyone’s hearts in his arms at the same time.

He could feel Banba’s heart against his ribs; the normally steady, strong beat faltering slightly—but still a sharp contrast to the panicky speed of his own pulse. Black’s breathing was weak, too, his arms were hanging limply—save for the ghost of a grip on one arm with one hand from when he’d pulled Kou against his chest in the chaos, tucking the boy into his own arms to shield him. Now he was unconscious, most of his weight slumped over Kou’s shoulder—the same way Master Red’s had been when he…

He pushed the memory away, his arms instinctively clinging tighter around his teammate, hands scrabbling for purchase against Banba’s back, curling into fists. At least, for the moment, Black was still warm and solid in his hold, not going cold or fading away—and even though it was stuttering and fading even more, his pulse still pounded right back against Kou’s chest. Each level beat a new, hammering reminder of just why they needed him so much.

This wasn’t fair. It felt like he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there—like he was intruding. But at the same time…

It felt right.

He was choking on panic, heart in his throat, just like that day in the temple. For all intents and purposes, it **was** his brother in his arms. He hadn’t realised how much he, how much all of them, had started relying on Banba as an unshakeable foundation, a constant in asea of uncertainty, until now—now that there was a very real danger of losing him. It had been abundantly how much Touwa needed his brother from the start, but Kou had never expected to end up feeling the same way—especially after how difficult their first meeting had been. If Banba died, it would kill Touwa. But now, it would also kill the three of them. They’d lost everything that day, and while nothing could completely fill the holes that had left in their hearts, the brothers had somehow become the closest comfort for the pain.

But what still felt wrong was that it was Banba.

Banba had never seemed like someone who could waver or fall, but he somehow felt fragile in Kou’s arms—heartbeat still fading, and his weight seeming to sink more against Red’s shoulder with every passing moment. Before, he’d always been like a boulder, a firm anchor whenever any of them flew too far away. But now it was like the boulder was crumbling beneath Kou’s very hands, falling into dust.

But another, longer skip of Black’s heart jolted him back to his senses. Banba didn’t need him to muse or panic—he needed him to focus and stay calm. So once more, he pushed away the dreadful familiarity of the situation, scrambling to make his hold more practical than frantic clinging, and trying to clear his head. They were alone, with no way of knowing when the others would reach them, or if they even knew where they were.

If he didn’t do something, Banba would die, and that they would not survive.

And he refused to let that happen.


	38. Ryusoul: Touwa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Banba.

He liked to think he understood his brother.

And most of the time, that felt true. Tiny changes in expression he knew no one else could detect, small, tacit clues in body language that were meaningless to others. Most of the time, the two of them seemed to communicate silently, in some sort of special, personal code that wasdelightfully a mystery to everyone else around them. He always enjoyed that—the way they could converse without anyone knowing what they were saying or that they were even communicating. Their little secret, a language uniquely theirs, in the giant game of them against the world.

And maybe it was selfishness or entitlement or both, but he also relished the reminder that his brother was **his** brother rather than anyone else’s. A resentful mixture of possessiveness and affection, combined with pride—that someone so incredible, that the world had neglected, was **his** special person.

But every now and then, especially when his brother thought he wasn’t watching, he’d catch a shadow or a motion that he couldn’t decode.

It didn’t makes sense. There shouldn’t have been any secrets they kept from each other, but sometimes it felt like… Like his brother was somewhere else, somewhere not even he could reach. He’d have a look like he was carrying something invisible, like a ghost was clinging to his back. Sometimes it showed when he asked certain questions, even when his brother answered them, giving the sense that there was more to the story than he was being told.

He didn’t like that feeling. Didn’t like the sensation that there was a part of his brother’s heart that was still closed to him, a door not even he could open. It gave the impression that despite how close they seemed otherwise, he was actually just racing frantically after his brother’s back, that was always a certain distance away; and no matter how fast he ran, he could never close that gap.

So, most of the time, he pretended it wasn’t there. Made up imaginary explanations for the things he didn’t understand as best he could, and ignored anything even that couldn’t explain. Over the years, he got good at it—could deliberately skew his perception to fit what he wanted to believe, even almost subconsciously. Whenever anything made him feel particularly uncertain, he developed ways to shut it down and push it away, locking all doubt—especially when it came to his brother—deep down in the darkness, with any other painful memories or thoughts. Down where its claws couldn’t reach him.

But it was all still there, waiting. Always in the back of his head, like a festering wound.

So sometimes, some days, he still felt like he was just running endlessly after his brother’s back and never getting any nearer.


	39. Ryusoul: Banba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Touwa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say… Banba angst?  
> No? **Too bad**.

_Everyone has someone special in the world_.

From time to time, he tries to remember who first told him that.

But it’s from one of his distant, more peaceful, pleasant memories, which float like long-lost ghosts through his mind. Faint whispers of light and warmth in the dark coldness that has consumed most of the rest of his life, always slipping away before he can pin them down. So he can never quite figure it out. Was it a parent? A relative? A friend? He can’t remember the last time he had friends or other family, not clearly.

What he does know is that it’s one of the few things he’s always believed, always known to be true.

Even if he can’t precisely recall where the phrase itself had come from, he knows exactly how long he’s had living proof of it. Has **been** living proof. He can count down to the minute the length of Touwa’s existence, the most important meaning in his life. It’s like time itself hadn’t started moving until that moment. He can remember in perfect detail how, when his brother was not even an hour old, he’d held him in his arms in a bundle of blankets—a little, grasping hand had escaped and accidentally laid hold of his finger, clinging to it on pure reflex. It had been in that moment he’d sworn his very first oath.

 _Touwa is_ ** _mine_**.

It didn’t matter what the world threw at them. No matter how bad things got, Touwa was his reason to continue—whether he was a tiny bundle of warmth sleeping on his chest, a pair of small feet pattering after him, or a scrawny, overconfident young boy. He does sometimes miss being able to fit his brother perfectly in his arms, to cradle him to his chest and shield him from harm, but that time has long since passed. Touwa isn’t a child—not anymore.

But he’s still the only thing that makes it—the darkness, the battle, the world—all worth it.

What little tenderness he’d once had in his nature is almost all gone now. All that’s left is that little cushion around his brother, the one sewn so deep into his heart not even the sharpest knives could cut it out. His only goal is to complete their mission and make sure Touwa makes it through—whether or not he survives is irrelevant. Perhaps it would be better if he doesn’t, to ensure Touwa’s safety from the darkness, the monster, within him; from the fear and hatred he harbours for the rest of the world. Perhaps. For the entire length of his brother’s life, he has lived only for the fight and loving Touwa. Once the battle is done, and Touwa can be happy and move on, there will no more need for him. That should bother him more than it does, but he can’t seem to care about it or see that far. Like time will stop once his brother no longer needs him.

Because even if he can’t remember who originally said it to him, he recalls with absolute clarity the very first words he whispered to Touwa’s newborn ears when he first held him.

 _Everyone has someone special in the world_.

 _And I have you_.


	40. Ryusoul: The Elder (feat. Banba and Master Red)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to Touwa.  
> Almost certainly non-canon compliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was not expecting this to happen.  
> This requires a little explanation.  
> I have this kind of joke crack theory that Banba and Touwa are actually the Elder’s grandsons somehow. Bc… Bc I thought it was funny?  
> Well, see I seem to have this thing that I have to try and make everything depressing, so then I got to thinking about how we don’t know how long the boys have been gone, and then how, if it were true, the Elder might feel w/ having his grandsons be out gods know where and not knowing if they were okay and so on.  
> And then I got _Close the Door_ from Anastasia the musical stuck in my head.  
>  The result? Well…

**_Where did summer go? I will never know—summer used to last endlessly._ **

**_Children all in white, running down the sand, to me._ **

**_To me…_ **

 

Little hands tug at his sleeve.

He looks down to find a small, dark-haired young boy he knows very well, gazing up at him with equally dark, earnest eyes. Smiling, he reaches down and lays a hand atop the boy’s head. Despite his youth, the boy’s expression is serious, and he says nothing—he’s always been a bit of a solemn child, even when he was even younger, before he had a brother on the way.

But it seems attention is not the only thing the boy wants. He gives another tug with both hands, then reaches up with one, holding out something clutched between his small fingers. It looks like a little ball of tiny beads tied together with a cord hanging off it, a random mix of colours and shimmer.

He looks between the ball and the boy a few times. “… For me?” The boy nods, and strains to hold it up higher. He quickly moves his hand from the boy’s head, and lets the child put the item in his palm. He looks it over more closely, then turns back to the boy. “Very beautiful.”

Just for a moment, he’s rewarded with a rare, dazzling smile.

But then someone else is calling the boy’s name, and the child turns to run toward the sound.

 

**_The beating of my heart, after they depart, lying wide awake through the night;_ **

**_Will you ever come running home to me? You might._ **

**_You might…_ **

 

“They might still be out there.”

The young man in the burgundy coat is standing beside him, looking worriedly at him rather than the view from the cliff.

“… They might.” He admits, finally, keeping his own eyes on the horizon rather than meeting the young man’s gaze. “They might.” He heaves a large sigh, gripping his staff a little tighter. “But…” But…

He slips a hand into the collar of his robe, finding the small knot of shiny beads he wears on a cord around his neck, tucked under the mantle. The last gift he’d ever had from a small boy with dark eyes not long before his brother was born.

“… But they could be anywhere by now.”

But if they wanted to be found, someone would have found them by now. They would have come home by now.

 

**_I’ve believed so long. I have dared to hope._ **

**_That the door might open, and that you might_ **

**_Enter…_ **

 

He almost can’t remember their faces.

A little boy with black hair and a grave expression, his brother nothing more than a newborn. But the details are fuzzy, and it’s like the memories are partially in darkness, obscuring his view. There are many dangers that could befall two children on their own. No… How long have they been gone? They wouldn’t be children anymore, now; the boy must be practically an adult, and the baby… Could they have made it this long on their own? Should he be fearing the worst? Should he…

Should he give up?

The sun drops further below the horizon, light fading away. There's only so much time and resources he could put into the search. The years have worn on, their people have become fewer, and the outside world has changed. It's been getting harder and harder to look, and the disappointment every time they return empty handed is even more painful.

Reaching under his collar, he finds the little ball of beads, still hanging around his neck closing his hand around it. In the end, all he has left is to hope that they really are still out there, somewhere. But… But with each passing day, the hard truth has become even more clear—that they are… Gone. And…

And never coming back.

The time has come to stop searching. He will send no one else. His heart can’t take it anymore.

But at least he can still hope that they are somewhere, out in the world—watching the same sun drop below the horizon, the same night fall over the land.

But at least he can pretend they might be thinking of home.

 

**_Lights begin to glow._ **

**_In my heart I know—you’re a lie that I’ve waited for._ **

**_Tell them all to go._ **

**_Tell them all no more._ **

**_Tell them… I close the door._ **


	41. Ryusoul: Banba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is bad, but I'm gonna put it here anyway. ^^;

His dreams are always cold.

Always. Like frost on his skin and ice water in his veins. It’s one of the few constants.

There’s snow everywhere, like he’s drowning in it; the chill of it is enough that his lungs stung with each breath. He knows why he’s struggling blindly through it, knows he’s searching for something—someone. Someone important—so very important that every moment he doesn’t find them is like a knife twisting in his heart. He’s numb and frozen, and can hardly see through the fog and falling snow, but none of that matters.

He has to find them. He has to see their face. He has to know.

His hand connects with something soft, and a little more fumbling reassures him that it’s an arm, at last. Gripping as tightly as he can to it, he feels up it to the shoulder, scrambling aimlessly to try and dig out its owner. Cold, wind, and snow obscure his vision, but he can tell by touch alone that the body is far too still. Feeling starts to return to him, but it’s fear and panic boiling over in his chest, his heart starting to race, as he frantically keeps working.

This person must not die. The mere thought is so terrifying he can’t breathe and he digs just a bit faster.

Finally, he moves away enough of the snow to pull the body out, into his arms, desperately trying to clear his vision, feeling for any sign of life, heart leaping into his throat as he continues to not find one. As cold as he is, they’re colder, and he hugs them to his chest, like that way he can impart what little warmth he has left to them—wishes desperately there was a way to transfer his very life into their limp form. But there’s nothing, no change as he cradles them tighter, frozen fingers drifting to brush their cheek and hair, still trying to blink the ice and water from his vision.

As it begins to finally clear, however, he realises there is something… Different. A tiny silver of awareness that whispers this isn’t how this usually goes. And when he looks down, what he sees shocks him from a hazy feeling into true lucidity.

It is different than his other nightmares.

It’s not his brother cold in his arms.

It’s Kou.

* * *

 

He doesn’t scream when he wakes abruptly. Even though it feels like air is forcing its way back into his lungs after being cut off for hours. Even though it feels like a bone-breaking punch in his ribs, even though panic is still making his heart race. Even though the image is still burned into his mind. He doesn’t scream, or kick, or thrash, or cry. Just rolls slowly onto his side, gasping silently for air.

He’s used to nightmares. Can smother a cry before he’s even fully awake. Stave off a fit of shivers without a single thought. Hold perfectly still and soundless even in the grip of his worst night terrors.

Has trained himself to suffer in silence to spare his brother. Waking from this is no different.

But something else is. Slowly, stiffly, he sits up, head falling into his hand. It seems even his own dreams are betraying him now, sleep clawing into his soul and dragging out the feelings and fears he’s desperate to quell. He’s done his best to resist and dissipate even the faintest traces of fondness that he even thinks might be stirring for the others. The last thing he needs is those three worming their way into his heart, doesn’t need fear of more children dying haunting his dreams. But the memory of Kou lying cold and lifeless in his arms beats against his mind, choking him again; agonising evidence that, willing or no, they’ve found their way in, regardless.

He doesn’t want to be their friend. Friends only betray you, or die. And he doesn’t…

He doesn’t want them to do either of those things. So that was how it happened.

What **does** he want? He… He wants… He doesn’t even know what he wants, anymore.

Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Touwa is still asleep, he stealthily gets to his feet, heading for the mouth of the small cave they’ve holed up in. He’s not about to risk more such nightmares by sleeping again—not if it might not only be Touwa like usual, but Kou again, or Asuna or Melto or…

He stops that thought in its tracks as he steps outside. It’s chilly in the forest at night, and the wind has picked up, but he ignores it, folding his arms and glaring back at the sky. The calmness above lets him lose himself in it, pushing all thoughts from his mind—all concerns vanishing into the deep blue, speckled with stars.

The temperature drops again; but it’s nothing like the frigidness he’s just awoken from, the icy terror that’s still lingering, deep as his bones. This breeze is nothing in comparison.

The night isn’t cold.

His dreams are always cold.


	42. Ryusoul: Touwa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to Banba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to the lovely drink that is tea that I am trying to work on my other stuff.  
> Just… Going through a rough time right now, and it's hard to concentrate. DX Which sucks because I've certainly got time. TT_TT

He’d never once been lonely.

Not in the usual sense of the word. Even though Banba was reclusive and insisted that they mostly stay away from people, he was never actually alone. After all, his older brother was always right there, whenever he needed him, like a large rock he could cling to or hide behind at any moment. No matter what happened, they had each other, and as long as that was true, they could get through anything, right?

And yet…

And yet, sometimes, there was a needling sensation in his chest that something was missing.

Banba loved him, he knew that beyond a doubt. They’d been together for his whole life, had their own tacit body language, and knew each other better than anyone. He was well aware of how much his brother cared for him, even though Banba wasn’t an affectionate sort of person. He knew that, too, understood it.

Yet at the same time…

Somewhere, in the back of his memory, were faint recollections of being hugged.

He presumed some of those memories were vestiges of their parents’ presence, but there were also ones where he was almost perfectly certain it was his brother’s arms that had been around him—a strange, familiar, and reassuring sensation mixed with a steady, powerful booming sound like the beat of a drum that seemed to reverberate around him. There were distant impressions of more passing touches, too, that he could also sense Banba in—a hand on his shoulder or head, falling asleep, on someone’s shoulder, even holding someone’s hand, and more. Casual contact that he saw people on the street engaging in—friends and families, who would simply reach out to each other, sometimes unconsciously, without even looking, just a latent need for physical touch. Occasionally, completely unbidden, those ghosts of memory would float to the forefront of his mind, and, especially when he looked around them, he realised something.

Banba never reached out to him like that.

If the memories were not completely fabricated—and there were enough hints and details in them that he was certain they were not—he had before, when they were younger. It wasn’t that they never had contact—there was exchanging mock blows in training, the occasional nudge if his brother wanted him to move, and even an odd shoulder or arm grab in an emergency, or in the rare times when Banba panicked. But there was never the unguarded, instinctive touches that were in his memory, that he saw others doing—and certainly never a hug.

Even though he knew his brother loved him, whenever those memories stirred up, he missed it. Missed the contact, a past he could hardly remember, before… Before something in his brother had broken and never quite healed, something he wished he knew what it was.

Saying anything, he was sure, would break his brother more. He’d already been a burden to him for most of their lives, and was more than acquainted enough with Banba’s stoicism to catch the slight variations in expression to see the flickers of pain and alarm whenever something happened. His brother worried about him enough already, he didn’t need to add more weigh to the load.

So he just tried to compensate. Whenever he started feeling the prickly, longing desperation for some sort of contact, he’d find ways to substitute. Occasionally, he reached out, but it didn’t feel the same and sometimes Banba would—completely unconsciously, he knew—flinch away from the unexpected contact.Pretending to trip worked pretty well, because his brother always moved to catch him immediately—but doing that too many times in quick succession got him suspicious looks. Possibly the most surefire way was, whenever his fell during training—which was often, he’d yet to beat his brother in a spar—to stay on the ground until Banba extended a hand to help him up. Sometimes, when he was sure Banba was asleep, he’d crawl over and curl up agains his brother’s side, or lean on his chest to listen to the dependable pounding of his heart, in perfect time with the resounding beat in his memories.

The touches were brief, and maybe none of it was anywhere near a hug, but…

But…

But it was enough to get by.

He’d never once been lonely—not really. Not so long as he could do even the smallest thing about it.


	43. Ryusoul: Banba (feat. Team)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick context for this idea:  
> In this version of events, GreenBlack Dad is an utter dickwad who allied w/ the Druidon over the Ryusoul tribe mainly for power/his own survival, but has deluded himself into it being to ‘protect his family’ (they probably were like ‘join us and we’ll spare your family,’ but as you can see in this, the guy ain’t father of the year in any way).  
> So stuff happens, and Evil¡GreenBlack Dad ends up helping the Druidon to kidnap Touwa, and then they tell Banba they’ll kill his brother unless he kills the other three for them (remember what I said about not being father of the year). Banba has a crisis over this, but ends up managing to alert the others, and then coordinates faking their deaths. Unfortunately, when reporting the faked deaths to the bad guys, he also has to convince his brother he went through with it, leaving Touwa angry and distraught—and when Evil¡GreenBlack Dad decides to honour the agreement of letting Touwa go, Touwa tries to talk to Banba, but gets yelled at to go away by his older brother (DX I’m so sorry, baby TT^TT Banba, why do you have to take ‘break their hearts to protect them’ so far? D:), so he runs off upset.  
> And thus, we begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue why the ‘pillars’ stop them from transforming in this mysterious cliff location. I just needed it for drama. DX I am ashamed.

“Interesting choice you made.” Banba turned to find his father had his back to him, arms folded, staring over the edge of the cliff. With a deep, thoughtful sigh, he turned back around; unfolding his arms, he crossed over to stand in front of his son, reaching out and cupping Black’s face softly in his palm and lightly running his thumb across the Ryusoulger’s cheek. “Seems we really are the same, after all…”

Banba stared back into his father’s eyes for a moment—then moved his head deliberately away from the man’s hand without breaking eye contact, gaze defiant. “No.” He said simply, voice suddenly level and perfectly calm, “I am nothing like you.” He wasn’t even angry anymore. Instead, there was… Something almost like peace.

His father’s eyes narrowed, and the man stepped closer. “Oh? Have you forgotten what you just did?” There was mockery in his tone.

But Banba just kept staring back at him blankly. “I meant what I said.” There was not a single hesitation in the words.

The man raised an eyebrow, his stare slowly morphing into a glare. “You’re going to be uncooperative now? Your powers don’t work here,” He gestured to the pillars around them, “Remember?”

Black’s gaze didn’t waver—indifferent an undaunted by his father’s darkening mood.

His father continued glaring for a moment—then the contemptuous amusement vanished from his expression. “… Then so be it.” He made a sharp gesture. The Drunn around them surged forward, grabbing Banba’s arms. He didn’t fight, even when he was forced roughly to his knees, and his head down. Footsteps came closer, and his father crouched down in front of him, peering at his face. “… I didn’t want it to be like this.” He murmured, reaching out to stroke his son’s hair. “Everything I’ve ever done has been to protect my family.”

Slowly, Black turned his head to meet his father’s gaze again. “… But you sacrificed everything else to do that.” He growled back, tone still inexplicably tranquil, though a scowl twisted his features slightly, before fading back into blank serenity as his stare wandered toward the horizon. “… After all this time…” He let out a sound that was almost a laugh. “… To think this was all it took.”

When he trailed off, his father’s hands moved to his collar, shaking him—but the impassive veneer didn’t waver. “What are you on about?”

“… It doesn’t matter.” Black continued just as softly and serenely. “It doesn’t matter if you kill me now.” Unconsciously, a small smile flitted across his face. “Because I’ve done what I wanted to do.”

“What?”

“… I spent my life trying to prove I was stronger than you—and now I have.” Banba raised his chin proudly, disregarding the hands on his collar, the painful way he had to twist his head around. “I’m a better knight than you. Because when I faced the same choice…”He stared straight back into his father’s eyes. “I didn’t sacrifice one thing I loved to save another.”

**Tyramigo!**

His father leapt back in surprise, releasing his collar, at the distant announcement, whirling around to look for the source, somewhere behind them. He spun back around, storming back over to grab his son’s head by the hair, hauling Banba up and back, so that he was standing on his knees, forced to look upward into his father’s furious expression. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I protected my family.” Despite the fact that the man was absolutely seething, gaze ablaze, Black’s voice was still composed, face expressionless. “From you.”

The only response was a loud snarl, and then he was thrown away—so hard that the Drunn holding him let go so that he crashed painfully onto the stone. He didn’t get any time to recover before his father was on him again, and hands were closed around his throat, cutting off his breathing, shaking him again. “I did everything for my family! And this is how you repay me?” The hands squeezed harder, and splotches began dotting Banba’s vision. On instinct, Black found himself struggling, one hand clawing at the ones on his throat, the other aimlessly scrambling for something—until it found the hilt of the dagger in his father’s belt.

There was a loud roar of pain, and the hands vanished from his throat when he managed to manoeuvre the jagged blade to stab his father in the back with as much force as he could muster. With the weight off him, Banba rolled clear, gasping for air. His father reached around to yank the knife out of his back, glaring down at the dagger. With another enraged snarl, he lurched forward, toward where his son was fighting for breath; hand clamping down on the back of the young man’s neck, he pulled Banba back up—and stabbed the bloodied blade into his abdomen, twisting it. Black let out a half cry of pain that died in his throat as his father pushed the knife deeper.

“Nii-san!” Touwa’s voice cut through the pain roaring in his ears, filled with panic.

It was followed by Kou’s, so closely they could have been calling in the same breath. “Get away from him!”

There was a commotion, and his father’s hold vanished from Banba’s neck, and without it to hold him up, he wavered. His hand moved unconsciously to the new wound, clutching at it, blood running down his vest and seeping through his fingers—doubling over, he barely managed to catch himself with his other arm. The sounds of fighting echoed nearby, blurring together—but even though he couldn’t quite understand the words, he could identify their voices—and when he heard those raise in pain, his bearings crashed forcibly down upon him.

Dragging his head up sharply, he searched desperately around until he found them. That they were unable to use their powers, and the gap in experience, was working against them—both were down and cornered, his father advancing on both his younger son and Red, sword drawn. Touwa was clutching his head like he’d struck it, looking dazed—Kou, meanwhile, was holding his side and favouring his left leg as he struggled up; seeing the approaching threat, he scrambled quickly across the ground to throw himself between the sword and his younger teammate, shielding him with his back.

Banba’s legs were already moving before his father had even started raising the weapon, aimed toward Kou’s back. The sudden motion sent a sharp jab of pain through the wound in his abdomen, and his brain wasn’t actually computing his actions, but none of that mattered—he was going on pure protective instinct, with no plan or thought. Barrelling headlong into his father, he knocked him over sideways and the sword out of his hand, then got between him and the other two, shoving him away again when the man started to his feet. Somewhere behind him, Kou called his name—but it blended into the furious howl from his father when he surged back up and charged him again, forcing Banba to bodily hold him back.

“You think you can protect them?” The man spat, struggling against his son’s grip, fingertips digging roughly into the Ryusoulger’s arm. “You **will** pay for crossing me.” A hand closed around Banba’s collar again to drag him closer, voice dropping even more, into a dangerous growl. “No matter what happens, I will **never** stop hunting them. You refuse to sacrifice anything?” He let out a mocking laugh. “Then I will not stop until I have destroyed **every** **single** thing you love. The things you would betray me for? Your brother, and those kids?” Banba’s gaze flicked compulsively over his shoulder at the other two Ryusoulgers—the hand gripped tighter on his collar, knuckles turning white, dragging his attention back to his father. “You can’t be around to protect them all the time.” The man whispered harshly. “I **will** see them **burn** for this.”

For a moment, time slowed down. His father was right. It was impossible to watch all of them at all times—and he knew the man well, knew that even a moment of a chance would be enough. His options were nonexistent—he was wounded, running on complete instinct and adrenaline, and unarmed. Everything was strangely muted as his mind searched frantically for some sort of solution—everything but a distant, thunderous roaring. The waves crashing agains the rocks below the cliff. Suddenly, he was very aware of how far down it really was, how close they were to the edge. Even without the rocks, the water itself would be dangerous enough.

A way out.

“… You’re right.” He replied, the words as calm as before. “I can’t.” Gritting his teeth, he met his father’s gaze unflinchingly once more. “But…” He took a deep breath. “… I can still end this here.”

Unbidden, his gaze turned back over his shoulder to the two boys behind him, both of whom had begun scrambling forward with frantic looks—seeing their faces, though, his will wavered for a moment; it was strange, how the things he’d die for were also the things that made him want to live. But then his father fought his hold again, and he knew he had to do it.

Taking another deep breath, he turned away, closing his eyes—then he locked an arm around his father’s shoulders tightly, and launched both of them off the edge of the cliff. Behind him, he heard someone scream.

When his father’s free arm grabbed the ledge, they were twisted around, and Banba’s back slammed painfully into the stone—he was elbowed hard in the stomach, like a second stab when it hit the wound, and struck in the face when the man tried to use his son as leverage to climb back up as the stone crumbled beneath his fingers. Twisting in a way that made his injury scream, Black fought back, shoving his father away, attempting to dislodge him. Finally, with one last howl, his father was gone—the last few scrabbles leaving red marks on his cheek and arm as he dropped into the darkness below. For a split second, Banba felt suspended in the air—then the stone scraped against his back again as he started to fall, too.

“Nii-san!” Touwa cried from somewhere above him, voice breaking, at the same time Kou shouted, “Banba!”

His fall was brought up short, his arm practically ripping out of its socket, and he realised his own hand had shot up to grab a ledge instinctively—reaching for their voices. But it was the bloodied hand, and the stone crumbled, giving under his weight, and then he was falling again—

Hands closed around his wrist. For a second, he kept falling, but then stopped short once more, and this time, held. As his senses realigned, gasping for air, he squinted upward at the person holding him.

Touwa had his arm with both hands, clinging so tightly his nails were digging into Banba’s skin, struggling to counteract the will of gravity and the way the blood made his fingers slip. But his brother was practically hanging off the edge of the cliff himself—they were only staying in place because Kou had grabbed Touwa’s ankle, then latched onto a rock that was sufficiently anchored in the ground; and even then, the weight was almost dragging Red over, too.

“What the hell are you two doing?!” He forced the words between breaths, gritting his teeth against the pain of his wound and the way it felt like is arm was about to come out. “You’re going to fall!”

“I don’t care!” There were tears in Touwa’s voice, and he somehow managed to cling tighter, enough that it was cutting off blood flow in Banba’s wrist. “I’m not losing you!”

“It’s okay!” Kou managed to yell, though his voice was strained by the forces pulling his shoulders apart. Twisting his arm holding the rock, he managed to bump the call button against the stone after a little work. “Asuna! We need you up here!” There was something like an affirmation on the other end, but then the stone beneath them gave a little more, and Kou was forced to cling tighter to the rock rather than answering as they slid downward. Finally, after some scrambling, they stabilised again. “… It’s okay. It’s okay!” Red panted again. “We’ve got you!”

“No, you don’t! If this cliff gives, you’ll both go down, too!” He frantically tried to twist his arm free of his brother’s grip.

“No!” It was the first time in their lives Touwa had ever shouted at him in something like anger, and the sound made him freeze and look up again. His brother’s eyes were watering as he stared down at him, but his expression was serious and determined. “Don’t.” Touwa continued, more softly, but even more fiercely. “Don’t you **dare**. Don’t you **dare** let go.”

“Asuna’s coming!” Kou added, pushing optimism into his voice around the breathlessness. “It’ll be fine!” Red looked down at him, too—and despite the bravado of his words, his expression was desperately pleading. “Just hang on!”

At last, Banba acquiesced—but ‘hanging on’ was getting progressively harder to do. The cliff face was eroded so that he couldn’t reach it anymore, and the position was pulling at the stab wound in his stomach, causing a gnawing, sharp ache that was steadily eating away at his abdomen and making it harder to breathe. Worse, with him hanging deadweight, there was no way Touwa could pull him up, even if with two hands and not hanging over the cliff himself. Meanwhile, Kou couldn’t do it with one arm, and if he let go of his rock anchor even for a moment to try and use both, all three of them would fall.

And he was starting to feel tired. Very, very tired. “… You’re both idiots.” He muttered wearily—but even as he did his best to grumble, a smile pulled unwillingly at his features.

“I can live with that!” Kou replied, with a laugh that turned into wheezing. The rugged surface rock he was clinging to was scraping his palm, blood smearing the stone as he fumbled for a better hold to keep from sliding, but slowly losing grip anyway. They dropped a little further down, and Banba felt his wrist slipping slightly in his brother’s hold.

But the fatigue was spreading—his mind was clouding over, vision fading in and out; even just breathing seemed like an almost impossible chore. Everything felt heavy, numb, and cold.

Touwa saw his lids fluttering, and felt it when Banba’s weight sagged somehow more. “Nii-san!” Terror surged through him again, like frost in his bones—growing only colder when his brother didn’t respond, and his head drooped forward. “Nii-san!” The only answer was a faint groan, nearly lost in the crash of the waves below. “Kou, he’s passing out! Nii-san! Stay awake! Please!”

Above him, he heard Kou curse through gritted teeth, almost at his own limit, then the sounds of effort as Red tried to use the com again. “Asuna!” The shout was pure panic, cracking at the ends. “Hurry!”

The seconds ticked on. Kou’s shoulders were at their limit, and Touwa could feel Banba slipping even more. Below them, the waves slammed against the bottom of the cliff, reaching upward like threatening, grasping claws. More moments passed, each seeming longer than the next, but each one clicking down to disaster, until—

Someone grabbed Kou’s arm. Asuna’s voice shouting for them to hold on tight was the only warning they got before everything was moving sharply upward—and then everyone was crashing and bumping onto the ground all the way onto the dirt from the force of her pull, and Asuna herself fell over as well when she leaned too far into it.

As they all scrambled to get up, Kou managed to land a flailing hand on her shoulder. “Asuna! Nice save!” She shot a grin back, rubbing a bump on her head.

“Nii-san!” The moment he was back up, Touwa was rushing to his brother’s side. “Nii-san!” Snapping back to attention, the other two quickly followed. Banba had landed on his back, and the shock didn’t seem to have done his condition any favours—his breathing was laboured and weak, eyes unfocused, and the wound in his stomach had turned the front of his vest into a bloodied mess. Touwa dropped to his knees by Black’s shoulder, while Asuna hurried up beside him and Kou joined them on Banba’s other side. Checking the injury, Red instinctively moved to pull off his jacket, then remembered the Changer attached to his wrist—fortunately, Asuna stepped in to help him get it off, then quickly bunched the jacket up, pressing it to the wound with both hands while Red repositioned.

Touwa clung to Banba’s shoulder, tightly, tears pouring even even harder down his face. “… Nii-san…?”

Finally, Banba’s gaze drifted over and stopped on his younger brother’s face, almost focusing on him. Slowly, agonisingly, Black’s hand lifted, loosely cupping Green’s face, faintly stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb like he was trying to wipe the tears away. “… Touwa…” His voice was weak and faint, and he’d become frightfully pale.

Touwa’s hands tightened on his brother’s shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his shirt sleeve. “Nii-san… I’m…” The words broke. “I’m so sorry…! I’m so sorry that… That I… That I actually thought…”

He trailed off when Banba’s floated up to muss his hair softly. There was a long silence as Black fought to breathe again. “… Are you guys… Alright…?”

Kou’s hand moved to grip his other shoulder gently, nodding quickly. “We’re fine.” He promised, biting back his own tears. “We’re… We’re fine.”

Asuna leaned forward from around Touwa’s shoulder, still pressing the bundled jacket to the wound, giving a nod and strained smile of her own, though it was tempered by her lip quivering. “We’re good!” With a clatter of frantic footsteps, Melto arrived, panting just behind Kou—he froze in shock when he took in the scene, then raced to join Red at Black’s side, across from Asuna, worriedly reaching for their teammate’s hand.

Banba’s hazy gaze flicked over each of them—then a weak smile flickered across his face. “… Thank goodness…” He let out a breath like a weight had been lifted off his back—but then his face fell, and his eyes began to close.

“Banba? Banba!” Kou’s voice in panic. Melto and Asuna both leaned forward anxiously, her desperately applying more pressure to the stab wound.

Touwa went almost as pale as his brother was, eyes widening. “Nii-san…!”

Banba’s eyes fluttered open once, and the trace smile broadened slightly—then his lids closed and stayed that way, his hand slipping out of Touwa’s hair, dropping to the ground and lying still. There was a moment of silence as all of them forgot how to breathe in horror.

Until Touwa’s anguish burst from him in a piercing, agonised scream as his world finally shattered.


	44. Ryusoul: Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With half focus on Banba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bc who doesn't love mind control?  
> Features a 'sequel' of sorts that I will post in the next chapter to create the illusion of time passing between these incidents.

He was in a room—a room he recognised.

Frowning, he looked around at the familiar walls and decor. “What the…?”

“Nostalgic, isn’t it?” Commented someone behind him, though they didn’t sound the lest bit sentimental about it.

Banba started, reaching instinctively for his sword, only to discover he didn’t have it. Shifting his weight to be ready anyway, he cautiously turned around to find the speaker—and froze, staring. “… You’re dead.”

“Yes.” Said his father. “And whose fault is that?” Rising from his seat, he stepped closer, into the light—looking a spitting image of the day he’d died.

Banba fell back, recovering from his shock enough to shake his head. “No. No… I… I didn’t mean…”

“The intent and not the deed is meaningless.” His father shot back, then sighed, pacing toward the wall. “You used to understand that.” He paused, turning back. “But I suppose things were different back then.” Moving closer, watching Banba carefully, he reached out, his fingers ghosting across his son’s cheek. “And look at you now…” He murmured gently—and, for a moment, his palm rested against the side Banba’s face softly. Then his eyes narrowed. “… You’ve forgotten everything you’ve learned.” Scowling, he pushed his son sharply away, turning to pace again, folding his arms. “Your hesitation is already causing destruction again.” Whirling around, he set his withering gaze back on his child. “Do you intend to repeat the same mistakes again? Was killing me not enough?”

“… It’s different now.” Banba whispered back, his eyes staying on the ground.

“Nothing is ever different.” His father replied icily, glare unwavering. “Sometimes sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.” He moved closer again, circling his elder son like a hawk. “You should know that. After all, you were taught it the hard way; and another lesson, too…” Banba flinched away from that reminder, and his father paused in his circling. Moving even closer, he extended a hand toward Banba’s bowed head, lightly smoothing it over his son’s hair—but his expression didn’t soften in the slightest. “There now…” He murmured, voice quiet but far from reassuring. “There’s still time to fix things.” Banba’s only reply was a nervous sigh, and looking even more at the ground. “Look at me.” His father hissed, irritation finally touching his voice, just a little. When his son didn’t look up, his scowl deepened. Turning his hand, he grabbed a handful of Banba’s hair, yanking his son’s head up, leaning so close that Banba should have been able to feel his breath—but there was none. “Look at me, boy!” The words weren’t louder, but more forceful, twisting with traces of disgust. He waited until his eldest son reluctantly met his eyes before easing his grip, though his hand merely drifted down to press against the base of Banba’s skull to keep him there. “You can still fix this.” When his son hesitated once more, his look became suspicious. “Banba…” He his tone went darker. “You understand, right?”

Banba took several deep, shaky breaths, staring fearfully back into his father’s face. “I…” He managed, struggling to make his voice work until it came out, even as a faint whisper. “I… I don’t…” The rest of it caught in his throat.

His father waited for a moment—but when he didn’t continue, the man’s face darkened. “Foolish boy!” He snapped, hands flashing to Banba’s collar, tossing his son away so forcefully, he crashed painfully into the ground. “You’ve gone soft.” He continued snarling, pacing away so that his back was to him. “Letting those children get to you. It’s time you cut them loose.”

“… No.” Dragging himself back up as far as his knees, Banba forced the word out. He couldn’t make himself look up, so he spat it at the ground.“I am **not** hurting them.”

His father turned to look at him. “Not hurting them?” He repeated disbelievingly, then walked over to crouch in front of his son, a smirk forming on his face. “Oh, my dear boy…” Grabbing Banba’s chin, he lifted his face with deceptive gentleness, his other hand raising to stroke his son’s hair again, trapping Banba’s head in his hold, forcing his eldest son to look into his eyes. “… Just what do you think you’ve been **doing** for the past ten minutes?”

* * *

“Kou,” Melto snapped urgently, kneeling at Touwa’s side. Green was sprawled on the ground where his brother’s attack had knocked him—though the cut on his chest seemed to be shallow, it was bleeding heavily, and he was frightfully pale. The rest of them weren’t fairing much better, either—Kou’s every movement hurt, in particular a deep gash of his own in his shoulder, and Melto was squinting because of blood running down his face from a head injury, and clutching a wound in his side. “We have to fall back!”

Kou struggled to rise from where he’d been thrown, scrambling painfully over to Green and Blue. “But…!” He started, looking towards where Asuna was struggling to fend off Black using KataSoul, despite her own injuries—favouring both a wounded leg and arm. She was stuck on the defensive, trying to stay between her downed teammates and their brainwashed comrade—under the influence of whatever power the Druidon had used, Banba wasn’t holding back, and the difference in experience was showing.

“I know you don’t want to leave him like this, but we may not have a choice!” Blue continued. “Touwa’s out cold, and Asuna can’t hold out much longer!”

The words were accented when Asuna was sent flying, crashing down nearby, rolling across the ground to land beside them. She struggled back up, shaking her head out before looking back at them. “If you guys have a plan, maybe you could hurry up with it?” She glanced back over her shoulder at where Black was now advancing on them purposefully, sword raised again. “Because I don’t think he plans to let up!”

Kou hesitated a little longer, biting his lip so hard it bled, hands curling into fists so tightly his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms. He glanced at the advancing Banba, then back down at Touwa. “… Okay.” He gasped out.

Melto was reaching for KakureSoul before he’d even finished the word, and Asuna jumped up to block Black’s way again to buy time. Wincing against the way it twisted his shoulder wound, Kou bent down and got his arms around Touwa, trying to manoeuvre the boy onto his back.

**KakureSoul!**

Asuna managed to knock Banba back enough that he was distracted when they went invisible, giving them a moment to collect themselves and slip away.

When they were finally a safe distance, Melto cancelled the effect—and it felt like all the exhaustion and pain caught up with them all at once. Blue sagged against a nearby wall, Asuna collapsed right down on the ground, nursing her hurt arm and leg, while Kou just knelt down, feeling Touwa’s weight against his back. For a moment, they all tried to catch their breath.

“… What are we gonna do?” Asuna wondered, her voice cracking a little.

There was a moment more of silence until Melto spoke. “… I don’t know.” He admitted, between breaths. He took another second to stable his breathing some more and wipe the blood off his face, then staggered upright from the wall. “For now, we should get back to the house and regroup.” Hobbling over, he held out a hand to Asuna. “Come on.” She frowned, sighing deeply, then took his hand with her good arm, letting him help her up, and then leaning on him when she reached her feet. Working together, they started down the street.

Kou was getting ready to heave himself to his feet and follow when Touwa shifted against his back, making a small, pitiful sound, like he was about to start crying in his sleep—a whimper that turned into a frightened, forlorn whisper that Red barely heard with Green’s head balanced on his uninjured shoulder;

“… Nii-san…?”

Kou froze, his chest clenching sharply.

Up ahead, the other two paused and looked back. “Kou?” Asuna called curiously.

Swallowing his distress as best he could, he pushed himself back up to his feet. “I’m coming.” He managed, and tottered after them as they started moving again, shambling their way back toward the house.

Trying to use the few blocks they had to think of a way to tell a boy they’d left his brother behind, and that they had no idea how to get him back.


	45. Ryusoul: Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plus Ui!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that they got rid of the horizontal line separators in tumblr posts? I suffer.  
> There's a pause between Melto coming up w/ the idea and putting it into practice bc he had to explain it to Touwa, and I wanted to be at least slightly dramatic about what it was.

Melto ducked behind the cover of one of the rooftop air conditioning units, racking his brain. Asuna and Kou were struggling to restrain Banba—Pink had manage to get her arms around him, locking one of his arms—but even though her hold was unbreakable, Black was struggling, kicking and stomping at her feet. Worse, the arm that was free was his sword hand, and even though Red had managed to latch onto it, he was getting roughly thrown around as Banba tried to twist free. Ui was somewhere on the other side of the roof, crouching behind another air conditioner, hands over her head, where she had ducked after a near miss from the TsuyoSoul. They’d yet been able to get him to hold still long enough to even try and undo his transformation, their last-ditch effort to snap him out of the Druidon’s control—and even that was unlikely to work. Their options were dwindling—when not holding back, Banba had smashed through all of their plans, and Souls like the NemuSoul had proved ineffective on Black’s condition. At this point, it really was starting to seem like they might have no choice but to…

“Melto!” Looking up at the sound of his name, he saw Touwa crouched across from him, looking scared and anxious—and so very young. Staring into the panic in Green’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t finish the thought. Logic be damned—he would not be responsible for tearing the boy’s only family away from him. But then Green continued in frightened tones, “What do we do?” It was a question Melto had no answer for. Nothing was working, and Asuna and Kou could only hold on for so long—they were running out of time. And here was Touwa, gazing pleadingly at him, genuinely believing Melto could think of a way to save the person most important to him in the entire world.

That thought made Blue pause. That was right—the only time they’d seen someone break from the control had been… He looked thoughtfully at Green. The brothers were each the thing the other loved most. Perhaps… Perhaps they could use that.

He took a deep breath. “… I have an idea.” He admitted. “… But I need you to play along, okay? I need you to trust me.”

Green stared right back into his face, earnestness practically coming off him in waves. “Anything.”

* * *

“Banba!” Melto stepped out from behind the AC unit, pulling Touwa with him by the arm—tugging as gently as he could, but already holding on as tightly as possible. He was surprised by how steady his voice was, but didn’t dwell on it. This, he needed to sell. “cut it out now!” He continued, fighting to keep his breathing even. “Or…” With a yank, he pulled Green over to the very edge of the roof so that the boy’s feet were scrambling to balance on the very brink of the ledge and the only thing keeping him from falling over the side was Blue’s grip on his arm. “… Or I will drop him.”

“Melto!?” Asuna demanded, looking absolutely horrified—and expression Kou was mirroring. “What are you doing?!”

He didn’t want to risk answering, so he just pointedly met their eyes and prayed the understood the message he was trying to send— _trust me_. It was true the plan was risky—if Touwa slipped, or his hold on the boy’s arm faltered, and Green couldn’t transform in time… He swallowed, squeezing Touwa’s arm tighter, so much so that he was probably cutting off circulation. He couldn’t falter now. The one time he’d seen anyone break from the mind control had been when a couple that was being compelled to fight them had realised that their child—left on her own when her parents were hypnotised—was in the way of falling rubble. The women had promptly abandoned the fight and rushed to spirit their daughter to safety, then fussed over her extensively, showing no more sign of Druidon control. The shock and adrenaline of seeing what they loved in peril had broken the spell. As an actual strategy, it had seemed too unpredictable to put into practice, especially given how dangerous Black was as an opponent already— one misstep could result in actual disaster. But they were out of choices, and he was thinking on the fly. Like how the couple cared for their daughter, Banba loved Touwa more than his own life. If anything could pierce the Druidon’s hold on his mind, it was the need to protect his brother.

And when Black’s gaze zeroed in on the hand holding Touwa’s arm, he knew it was working. Banba froze, just staring at them, for a very long time.

“Tyra!” A rumbling in the ground announced the arrival of Tyramigo, lumbering over to peer at them on the rooftop anxiously. He was followed by the other four Kishiryu, who each let out a roar of their own. At the sound, Banba’s head jerked slightly, glancing at them—like they’d just woken him from dozing off. The silence stretched on for another moment.

“… Touwa…” Banba’s voice was quiet, slow, and startled—filled with a complex mess of emotions, but all rooted in unmasked tenderness—and finally… Relieved.Melto instantly pulled Touwa back onto the roof proper at the sound, taking a moment to move Green further away from the ledge, just in case, inching closer. It was like the name was a switch—Black’s whole body relaxed, his transformation dropping, gasping for air like he’d been running nonstop. Slowly, his gaze moved to Kou, who was trying to catch his own breath, like he’d just realised Red was there. “… Kou…” He said it the same way he’d said Touwa’s name—though his voice was gaining strength—more than just a greeting or identification, a statement of something more, that made Kou give him a teary smile in return. Turning his head the other way, Banba looked slightly over his shoulder at Asuna, who was easing her grip now that she didn’t need to restrain him—murmuring in the same warm, emotional tone, “… Asuna…” She beamed back as well at the recognition, sniffling slightly. Finally, Black’s gaze moved back up to where Melto still had an arm loosely around Green. “… Melto…” Despite having heard the others called, Melto still nearly choked at hearing his own name said like that, with such deep affection. Then Black looked over toward the corner where Ui was peering out from behind another AC unit. “… Ui.” Ui blinked, glancing around like she thought he was talking to someone else, even though he’d called her name. For a moment, all was still, the feelings between them just hanging in the air.

Then Touwa let out a small sob, rushing out from under Melto’s arm to throw himself into his brother’s chest, locking his arms around Banba’s waist. Black pulled his arm out of Asuna’s relaxed hold to gently stroke Green’s hair. At the same time, Kou gave a happy cry and jumped in as well, clinging to Banba’s side, and Black’s other arm tucked unconsciously around his shoulders. Asuna squeaked delightedly, and jumped up and down a few times before hugging tighter, her arms still around Banba’s middle, leaning into his back. Ui scampered over to join them, squeezing in next to Asuna and hanging off his shoulder with a big, goofy grin of her own, though she was clearly also trying to fight off tears. Then Melto found himself rushing forward as well, joining the huddle on Black’s other side, pressing his face into Banba’s chest—when he felt the other Ryusoulger’s arm settle around him, too, he finally started crying, too, the stress overflowing.

They were all suddenly bumped when Tyramigo leaned down and tried to nuzzle them—the Ui burst into loud bawling, and decided to try and throw her arms around everyone at once as she wailed, and had little success.

Soon almost everyone was laughing, though Banba just looked vaguely bemused, and they broke apart. Kou and Touwa rearranged so that Black could lean on them when his legs wobbled, and he did so with only minor hesitation. Asuna went over to put an arm around Ui, gently patting her back and trying to talk her through taking deep breaths, while Melto leaned on his knees, trying to get his bearings. The Kishiryu watched them for a moment—then Tyramigo let out a happy ‘Tyra’ and trundled away again, the others each making similar sounds as they followed. MirNeedle stayed the longest—standing up on his hind legs, he leaned on the building with his front legs, bending his head down to nose at his Ryusoulger’s back, nearly knocking Banba right over.

Black stumbled, managing to catch himself on the other two, then looked over his shoulder at the concerned Kishiryu. “… I see you, I see you.” He muttered, sounding more fond than annoyed. “… I’m fine.” MirNeedle stared nervously down at them for a little longer, then turned his head toward the sky to let out a delighted roar. Reaching down to nudge Banba with his muzzle one last time, he clambered off the building and trudged away after the others.

“… He was worried about you.” Touwa explained quietly.

Banba sighed deeply. “… Troublesome.” He grunted—but both Red and Green saw him smile as he glanced back at the retreating Kishiryu.

Finally, Melto was upright again, and Ui had calmed enough to be able to walk. Blue looked around at everyone, and couldn’t resist a grin. “… Let’s go.” The response was a series of affirmative nods.

* * *

Asuna and Ui burst through the door of the Tatsui house with happy shouts, causing Naohisa to nearly fall out of his chair in surprise. Ui rushed over to help him up, hardly containing her own excitement. “Tou-san! We did it!” Naohisa scrambled his way to his feet as the others came in, Melto holding the door so that Kou and Touwa could help Banba through it—though once inside Black stepped away to lean on the wall, taking his weight off their shoulders.

The old man located his cane, leaning on it and giving them a pleased smile. “Perfect timing!” He hobbled over to the table, the top of which was covered with a cloth. “Because…” With a flourish, he pulled the cloth off, revealing a large expanse of food, “I have prepared a celebration feast!”

Ui gasped, whirling to stare at her father. “Where you doing this the whole time?” Naohisa just looked proud of himself.

Asuna let out an overjoyed shriek and dove forward, scooping the heaping plate of meat off the table. “Mine!”

She darted toward the corner with it, but Melto frantically gave chase. “Asuna, you can’t eat all that alone, it’s not healthy!”

“Can to!” Pink shot back, then, “Ui, get him!”

With a burst of laughter, Ui complied, tackling Melto over while Asuna kept scurrying off. Blue struggled to get away, and the three of them descended into a comical game of keep away, racing around the room, the plate being passed precariously between the girls to keep it out of Melto’s reach. Kou and Touwa both tried to collapse exhaustedly into the same chair simultaneously, and quickly began squabbling over it, snatching it back and forth, and pushing each other on to the floor when one of them tried to sit in it, voices rising—eventually, they resorted to pinching each other’s cheeks competitively again.

Naohisa watched the chaos with a smile for a moment, then hobbled over to Banba by the door. Reaching up, he clapped a hand on Black’s shoulder. “… Welcome home.”

Banba looked sharply at him in surprise—then his expression slowly softened, and he turned his head to watch the others’ mayhem. The corners of his mouth turned up in a genuine, warm smile, the clearest he’d given in a long time. “That’s right…” His voice was quiet, but the weight of the words was palpable. “… I’m home.”

Everyone froze, turning to look at him. “… Nii-san?” Touwa asked, though neither he nor Kou seemed willing to let go of the other’s cheek.

Banba smirked slightly, shaking his head. “… Nothing.” Heaving himself off the wall, he marched over, a little haltingly, to grab the chair Kou and his brother were fighting over and sit pointedly in it, folding his arms.

The other two let go of each other in surprise, but while Red let out an outraged gasp, Green took it as a win, and they were soon bickering about that, with Kou demanding that Touwa stop gloating because he hadn’t done anything. Melto tried to take advantage of the distraction to attempt to seize the plate from Asuna’s hands, but tripped and banged his head on the table. Both girls quickly dropped the chase to rush over to make sure he was okay, though Asuna made sure to hold the plate just out of reach; Naohisa soon joined them, offering Blue a hand to pull himself up.

Night began to fall outside. Banba leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, a still stone in the madness surrounding him. The exhaustion was at last catching up with him, and it seemed, for the moment, like every bit of tension and worry had left him—for the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely safe.

And so, slumped over in the chair, listening to the comforting sound of the others voices around him, he fell finally fell asleep.


	46. Ryusoul: Master Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Master Green and Gaisoulg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Master Black is tormented, but the secret is… That he's a rather horrible person.

There are shadows in his mind, passing ghosts and whispers that ask him if he remembers who he is and what he’s done.

Sometimes he has answers. Sometimes not. Sometimes his past all blurs together, mixing with that of the armour, and he can’t tell where he ends and it begins—and when he tries to separate them, his head hurts.

He had a name, once, he thinks. Can’t remember what it was, though. There are bits and pieces of a person—faces he thinks are familiar, who might have been people he knew, part of a life he once had—two faces in particular that flit just at the fringes of his mind’s reach, known and unidentifiable all at the same time. That life seems lost to him now. Occasionally, he attempts to fight through the pain in his skull to reconnect the dots, to draw the lines between the fleeting images.

Sometimes, one of the spectres steps out of his shattered thoughts and stand before him, watching him with infuriatingly familiar and accusing eyes. _Who are you?_ He asks it, from time to time, when he’s sitting by the fire deep in the night, as it watches him across the flames.

It never answers. Just stands. And stares. With blank eyes, brimming with indescribably darkness, judging him for crimes he can’t recall—can’t tell if it’s him or the armour it hates.

Sometimes, though, he knows its name—but even then, he fears to speak it. But during those times, the phantom feels closer, the eyes pierce deeper, a chill runs down his spine, right through the armour. Those times, when he looks at the eerie face across the fire, he remembers—bits and pieces of his past separate from the swirling fog his consciousness has become, temporarily distinguishing themselves as his and not the armour’s.

Images of a distant mountain, reaching for the clouds.

An ancient forest, wind drifting through the trees, filled with hidden whispers.

Songs, music, faintly recognisable warbles in the night, echoing joyously toward the sky.

A child he used to hold—two, even—bundles of warmth at his heart.

A sense of belonging, of love—and yet, disconnected at the same time, a sense of… Lacking. Wanting more.

Easy, far too easy to forget his original purpose, to break free of all restrictions. Filling one need—then another, and another, until…

Until the confusion. The blurring. Merging into something else, something greater.

And as he gazes upon the unearthly visage across the flames, it does change, morphing into a sight from one of those very fragments of memory that rise to torment him, burning back into his eyes.

His younger brother’s face, at the very moment he ran his sword through his chest.

He screams and throws something at the spirit then, but it always persists—the astonished, betrayed expression boring back into his soul.

By morning, the scraps of himself are all lost in the fog once more, fading into the muddle that is his mind and the armour melded together—and the cycle begins again.

There are shadows in his mind, passing ghosts and whispers that ask him if he remembers who he is and what he’s done.

Sometimes he has answers. Sometimes not. Sometimes he can’t tell where he ends and the armour begins.

Sometimes—most times—he doesn’t want to.


End file.
